


parallel on the other side

by brojan



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Ghosts, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:49:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brojan/pseuds/brojan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>liam doesn't believe in ghosts, but harry is nice to him anyway. (a casper AU, sort of)</p>
            </blockquote>





	parallel on the other side

**Author's Note:**

> for an [anon](http://fortunaforme.livejournal.com/1844.html?thread=4404#t4404) at the [halloween ficathon](http://fortunaforme.livejournal.com/1844.html), who requested a casper au. this really has nothing to do with casper, either the movie or the comics or whatever, but it has friendly ghosts so i'll keep calling it that. please note that i didn't tag major character death because it doesn't take place during the story, but some of the characters are ghosts, so obviously they died. it's discussed but not in any gory detail. fair warning.
> 
> title from "mirrors" by justin timberlake.

“It’s a good thing you’re doing.” 

Liam drops a stack of text books into an open duffel bag and sneezes before he turns to look at Zayn. Zayn’s helping him pack – supposedly – but mostly sitting by the window chain smoking and frowning into the cloudy morning. 

Liam stretches out his neck and his back, gone sore from bending and lifting. “It’s not that good,” he mutters. “Wish I could do more.” 

He watches Zayn blow out a ring of smoke before he stubs out his cigarette on the windowsill and turns to meet his eye. “It’s an amazing thing, Liam,” he insists. 

Liam’s eyes are burning from the dust in the air. He’s lived in this room, just down the hall from Zayn, for two years, and he’d pictured them there for years more: graduating uni, starting their first jobs together, ironing suits in the living room.

“Maybe I should have just dropped out,” Liam says. “Got a real job, sent the money home.” 

Zayn’s face goes furrowed before Liam even has the sentences out. Liam can almost see the protestations forming on the back of his tongue. “The house will get them way more money than you ever could working,” Zayn points out. 

“Well, I could work on it full time,” Liam says. He sits down heavily on a plastic box, cradling his head in his hands. He’s already been over this a hundred times with his parents and they won’t let him drop out, don’t even want him moving out to the property to clean it out and fix it up so they can sell it, but the compromise is that Liam takes classes online while he lives out there in the fall. “It’s a waste of money to pay for internet just so I can take fucking childhood development.” 

He’s been over this with Zayn a hundred times too, and it’s testament to what a good friend he is that he doesn’t even look exasperated. “Liam,” he says carefully. “You cannot move out to the middle of nowhere by yourself and not even have wifi.” 

“Yeah,” Liam says. He knows that, logically. But the whole point is that his parents need money, and yet they’re spending it on stuff for him, he’s spending money he could give them on tuition, all he wants to do is make this easier – 

“Come on, Li,” Zayn says, a smile hinting around his mouth. “You think you’re Mr. Handy Man but I reckon you’ll make good use of Google if that house is in as bad shape as your parents said.” 

Liam lets himself smile then, gets back to his feet and heads for the last pile of clothes waiting to be packed in the corner. 

“Speaking of Google,” he says. “Can you get me directions to this place? I tried to put it in my phone GPS and it went nuts.” 

Zayn closes the window as he moves away, and when he gets close Liam can smell the smoke on his skin. He’s going to miss Zayn, he is; hungover weekends on their ratty couch watching football, trips to the comic store, midnight showings of their favorite superhero movies. 

Liam looks away from him, typing away at Liam’s laptop, and tries not to think the word “unfair.” Unfair is Liam’s dad losing his management job two years from retirement, having to go back to factory work, and its long hours, and its back-breaking work. Unfair is his mom looking for secretary positions so they don’t lose their home.

So if Liam can just get this old property, some rundown heap in the middle of nowhere that Liam’s dad inherited from a great aunt ages ago, into some sort of shape so it can be sold, it would solve so many problems. 

“Mate, are you sure this address is right?” Zayn sounds confused and it startles Liam out of his head. 

“Erm,” Liam says, and looks for where he’s packed the deed to the place. “1875 Whipstaff Lane? Right?”

“Yeah, that’s what I put,” Zayn mutters. 

Liam moves behind his desk chair, peering curiously. “Can Google not find it either?” he asks, half joking. “Because that would worry me a bit.”

“No,” Zayn murmurs, “Google definitely found it.” 

Liam leans over his shoulder, squinting at the screen to see what Zayn is talking about. The first result, in big blue letters next to a picture of a large, dark, imposing house, reads, “Most Haunted Places in the Country.” 

Zayn clicks the link while Liam is still frowning at the words. “If you’re looking for an up-close and personal encounter with a ghost,” Zayn read, when he’s scrolled down to find the Whipstaff entry, “Look no further than Whipstaff Manor – although getting there can be a scary adventure in itself. Located on some rocky cliffs barely accessible by car, the manor is said to be haunted by three young ghosts who are not by any means shy of strangers. Beyond the typical flickering lights and moving objects, visitors have reported pranks like pinched bottoms and having their pants tugged down, and some even say the ghosts have audibly greeted them – by name. Spook rating: 8.5 out of 10.” 

Liam stares at the screen a little longer; there’s a blurry, clearly dated picture of the manor, looking imposing against a dark sky. 

Liam straightens, frowning. “Good thing I don’t believe in ghosts,” he says. “Doubt that will help with sales though.” 

Zayn is quiet a moment longer, and then Liam glances at him in time to see him shrug. “You never know. Some people are way into that stuff.” 

“Anyway, can you get me those directions, mate? I’m just about done here.” Liam glances around his room, but the shelves and drawers are bare. He seals up his last box. 

 

It’s already dusk by the time Liam finds the house – the dirt road turnoff was barely visible, even in broad daylight, and the hairpin turns along the cliffs had Liam driving slower than his grandmother. He pulls out his phone to let his parents and Zayn know he made it, but – no service. He should have known. 

The key his dad handed him when they’d made this arrangement is heavy black iron, truly something from another age, unlike anything Liam’s seen before. He parks behind the house and walks around it to the front door, and it’s actually kind of nice; the waves crash below him, the sun sinking beneath the horizon and coloring the sky gold. Liam thinks, for a moment, maybe this place won’t be as hard to sell as he thought. 

Then he gets the front door open. 

It swings slowly when he turns the knob, creaking inward like something out of a horror movie – Liam really doesn’t believe in ghosts, but still, when the door opens into the vast inky blackness of the immense house, he can’t help thinking about the website Zayn found. 

He snakes his hand along the wall inside the door, silently praying that the electricity company had made good on its promise to check that the house was on the grid before he arrived. Liam jerks back as his hand slides into a cobweb, but he tells himself he’ll have to get used to that – probably plenty of bugs and other creatures taking up residence here while no one else will. He pushes forward, taking a hesitant step into the house, when his hand rubs over a switch on the wall. 

He flicks it and for a long moment nothing happens. Then a buzzing sounds above him, and a spark flickers – and then the whole room is bathed in light, spilling over from an ancient chandelier dangling above him. 

“Oh, thank god,” he whispers to himself, more to fill the silence than anything. The floorboards groan under his feet as he walks further into the mansion, taking a look at his new home. 

Liam is decidedly unimpressed. The chandelier, while functional, is hanging loose on one side and clearly dripping with spiderwebs and god knows what else. The wood under his feet appears to be rotting in places, and the entire house smells of wet materials and possibly mold. There are lumps around the room that Liam can’t even tell what they once were, warped and disfigured and in some cases charred black. He can see hours and hours of work in this room alone, and it’s only the tip of an incredibly large iceberg. 

But. He’ll give himself tonight to get settled – unpack his blowup mattress, head back into town to find food and tools, and a very tall ladder – and then tomorrow he’ll start, bright and early, so he can get out of this place as fast as humanly possible. 

 

The first night, when he sleeps in the front hall under the life-threatening chandelier, Liam tells himself he’s just tired. He’s not afraid to go find a bedroom, he’s just too bone-weary; and besides, the only thing that makes a bedroom a bedroom is a bed. And his bed is in the front hall. 

The next morning, although Liam’s sleep was fitful, he has no such excuse not to go explore the rest of the house. 

First he unpacks his truck, stacking boxes carefully inside the front door. He finds the kitchen first, goes through almost a whole roll of paper towels clearing off the stove and the countertops, unpacking his pitiful set of plastic plates and secondhand silverware. There are piles of things in the drawers and cupboards of the kitchen; he throws it all into trash bags without looking. Nothing here can be saved. 

 

When he's got the internet set up - the portable modem he'd brought doesn't work, not without cell phone service, but he finds the phone line he'd requested turned on in the back of the house and he gets it rigged up all right - he emails Zayn to get on Skype and sighs out loud with relief when his video request pops up. 

"Mate," he says, grinning into the screen. "You don't know how good it feels to see another human face." 

Zayn smiles, wide, and he looks so familiar. Liam knows exactly where he is, sat in his bed against the wall; Liam knows because he can see the corner of Zayn's Hulk poster at the edge of the screen. "It's only been, what, 26 hours, Li? Is it so bad already?" 

Liam balances his laptop on his knees and leans back against the wall, the dark of the house spread out in front of him. "Feel like so much longer, you wouldn't believe it," Liam tells him. "It's so quiet out here. I feel like the world's ended." 

Zayn makes a noise in his throat. "Poor Lee-yum," he coos, and Liam wants to be there with him, doing his homework at the kitchen table while Zayn makes curry. "Remember, the guy who's renting your room is month to month, so just let me know when you think you'll be done and I'll give him notice." 

"Yeah," Liam says, grateful that he has somewhere to go back to. "I think this is going to take a long fucking time, mate." 

Zayn looks as disappointed as Liam feels. "Is it that bad?" 

"Wait," Liam says, "I'll show you." He sets the laptop on the ground and gets to his feet, hauling his pants up before he bends for the computer. He turns it so it's facing the same direction as him, twisting to see the small screen in the corner so he can see what he's showing Zayn. "Here's the great hall," he tells Zayn. "I use the term 'great' lightly. Please note the rotting floorboards." He turns the screen to one corner. "I think, at some point in time, that was a chair." 

"Jesus," Zayn says, and he sounds awed. 

Liam turns the screen so the camera captures his face again. " _I know_ ," he says, nodding, until Zayn laughs. 

He walks across the main hall, narrating all the problems he'll have to fix, and turns into the kitchen. "I think they call this vintage," Liam says, sweeping the camera around the room. "You're not getting the full effect because I already spent an hour cleaning it this morning." 

"Unfortunate," Zayn says. 

Liam walks him out the other side of the kitchen and points the laptop down a dark hallway. "That hall leads out back," he says, "And oh, wait until you see the bath-"

"What was that?" Zayn interrupts. Liam stops walking, turns the screen so they're talking to each other again. 

"What was what?" he asks. 

Zayn's blinking, his brow furrowed; he looks past Liam, over his shoulders. Liam suddenly wishes he was standing against a wall. 

"I thought -" Zayn starts, but cuts himself off, shakes his head. "Nothing. Probably a weird reflection from the laptop, or something." 

Liam looks at him and then down the hall; it’s quiet, empty. He forces a laugh, but it comes out shaky. "Stop trying to scare me, man," he says. "I already told you, I don't believe in ghosts.” 

Zayn's managed to clear his face, and he just smiles again. "You're the one scaring me," he says. "Now show me the bathroom." 

 

So maybe that's the first sign that something's wrong. Or not necessarily wrong, but off. Different. The second sign is somewhat less subtle. 

Liam’s been walking from the front hall out the back door all morning, hauling trash down the hallway and throwing it in back of the house. He forgot to buy gloves at the store and his hands are streaked black with god knows what and littered with small cuts. He treks back into the house; the front room is nearly empty now, and it’s only a little progress but it feels like something. Liam goes into the kitchen to grab his water off the counter. 

It isn’t there. 

The thing is, there aren’t that many places he could have set it. The front hall is empty now, the kitchen is cleared out but for his stack of plates and baggie of utensils. There isn’t any place to set a bottle of water down in the hallway to the back door, and his hands had been full anyway. 

Liam turns a slow circle around in the kitchen, his brow furrowed. The counters are bare. 

“Where in god’s name –“ he mutters, bending down inanely to look inside a cabinet he’s never opened before and look inside. 

“You did move _our_ things around,” a voice responds, and Liam’s heart goes crashing out of his ribcage and into his throat. He straightens and spins, back against the countertop behind him. 

No one is there. 

He takes one deep breath, two. The rush of panic doesn’t die down, because he’s thinking about what he’s going to do if someone is here to rob him, or worse, and there’s nothing – it’s not like he brought weapons. It’s not like there’s a police station nearby. He is absolutely fucked. 

“Hello?” he calls, because he can’t think of anything else to do. “Is someone there?” 

Liam remembers the website Zayn showed him; of course the house must get visitors. Of course they wouldn’t knock before coming in. Liam convinces himself this is what is happening because there is no other alternative that turns out well for him. 

“Is someone here?” he calls, pushing away from the counter and heading toward the front hall. “Can you hear me?” 

“I can hear you,” a voice responds, and it’s coming – it’s coming from the counter where Liam was just standing. He’s still in the doorway to the kitchen, three feet from that counter. His body sags against the wooden doorframe as he looks back and confirms what he knows to be true: there is no one there. 

“Are you all right, mate?” the voice comes again, and it’s absolutely coming from the kitchen, and there is absolutely no one there. “You’re looking a bit pale.” These last words are spoken right in Liam’s ear, and then everything goes black. 

 

When Liam wakes up he’s still slumped in the doorway, and he doesn’t remember exactly what’s happened. He opens his eyes, blinking blearily, and then he looks to his right.

His water bottle is sitting on the floor next to him, lid removed and carefully placed next to it. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Liam hisses, jerking away from it like it’s possessed, scurrying along the floor into the kitchen. Then he remembers, the kitchen, looks up in horror at the counter – 

There’s a man sitting there. 

For a moment Liam is just relieved to see someone, not that disembodied voice he could have sworn he heard earlier, but his relief doesn’t last long when he realizes he can still see the cabinets, the back wall, even though someone is sitting there. He’s transparent. 

Liam is still on the floor. He presses his hands against his eyes because surely he’s not already losing it, not after only a day. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he says again. 

“Actually my name is Harry,” the guy says, and when Liam uncovers his eyes the man – ghost – has moved closer, standing in front of him, over him. Liam scurries back again until his back hits the wall. 

“’m sorry about Louis,” the guy-ghost Harry says. “He’s never made anyone faint before.” Harry pauses, considering. “He was quite proud, really. He’s upstairs telling Niall now.” 

“What _are_ you?” Liam asks harshly. He’s pinched himself three times and he’s still on the kitchen floor looking at Harry and through him at the same time, so he’s accepting that this isn’t a dream. He didn’t think he would lose it being out here alone in less than a day, but maybe he’s not as mentally strong as he thought. 

Harry frowns. He drops to crouch on the floor a few feet from Liam and holds out an arm to inspect himself. “Well, that’s a rather rude question,” he says finally. His voice is deep and slow; morbid, almost. Liam presses back against the wall more firmly. 

“I’m not really bothered by labels,” Harry says. “Suppose you’d call me a ghost. A spirit. Whatever you want, really.” 

Liam studies him. He thinks of ghosts as things in white sheets, or maybe black shadows with glowing eyes, but Harry just looks – normal. Like him, but a little bit paler. And the transparency bit, as well. He’s got a bit of a glow to him, but not what Liam would necessarily call supernatural. 

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Liam says eventually, and Harry glances up at him and looks absolutely delighted. 

“Oh!” he says. “Oh, you don’t! That’s fantastic!” 

Liam frowns again. “I’m in a dream,” he tells Harry stubbornly. “Or some kind of break with reality.” 

“Did you try pinching yourself?” Harry suggests helpfully. 

“Of course I did,” Liam retorts. 

Harry nods. “Well, while we wait for you to wake up,” he says. “How do you feel about jokes?” 

 

Harry tells him three jokes in a row with a punchline involving “booberries” before Liam remembers what he’d said. “Wait,” Liam says, just as Harry begins to say “Knock knock.” “Did you say someone named Louis was messing with me earlier?” 

“Well, yes,” Harry says, his face going serious. “I wouldn’t hide your things and tease you. It’s not polite.” 

Liam swallows. “And he’s upstairs telling…”

“Niall,” Harry supplies. 

“Niall,” Liam repeats. 

Harry nods. 

“And you’re all ghosts.” Liam states. 

“Right,” Harry confirms. 

Liam takes a deep breath and processes this information. He thinks he’s doing quite well, actually. Fainting aside, he’d never have thought he’d be sitting in the kitchen listening to a ghost tell him knock knock jokes. Then again, Harry’s been rather accommodating, not really the evil spirit type. 

“So why can I see you, but I couldn’t see him?” Liam asks. 

“Oh, we can appear and disappear at will,” Harry says easily. All of a sudden he gets fainter and fainter and then he’s gone. “See?” His voice is still coming from the same spot. 

Liam doesn’t like it. “I see,” he says. “Come back now, please.” 

In a moment Harry’s reappeared, smiling at Liam slowly. “Miss me?” he asks. 

Liam ignores him. “Are there more of you, or just the three?”

“Just the three,” Harry says. “There’ve been others in and out through the years, but now… just us three.” 

Liam hugs his arms around his legs, still tucked carefully against the wall. It’s still afternoon, so the light is slanting brightly through the windows. Liam’s heart races when he thinks about being in this house after dark. Maybe he should get in his car, hightail it into town and get a hotel room. 

He thinks of the money he’d be spending and his parents and he eyes Harry again. He seems to be waiting patiently, but watching Liam closely too. “Are the other ghosts in here?” Liam asks suddenly. “In this room, right now? Just, invisible?”

“They’re not,” Harry says. “I could tell if they were.” 

“Do they not like me?” Liam asks. “Are you guys going to try to drive me out? I’m just trying to clean this place up so my parents can sell it, they really need the money –“ 

Harry frowns, and he looks genuinely concerned. He drifts closer to Liam – not exactly scooting across the floor, but – floating. Liam realizes he’s floating, not sitting on the floor but just a tiny space above it. He holds his hands up as if to ward Liam off. Ironic. “We’re not trying to drive you out of anything, Liam,” Harry says. 

Liam wants to believe him, but then – “How do you know my name?” he asks, his voice unwillingly going high pitched and panicky. He hasn’t told Harry, he’s sure. 

“Earlier, you were talking to someone on the screen, and he said it,” Harry says easily, like that’s the obvious answer.

Liam stares at him and tries not to shudder. “You were,” he says, and shakes his head. “You were watching me.” 

“Yes,” Harry confirms, guileless. 

“I don’t like that,” Liam says, because he doesn’t know what else to say or what he can do. “I don’t like that you can be in a room and I don’t know it.” 

Harry looks at him for a long moment, and his expression turns to something almost hopelessly amused. “Well, Liam,” he says, and he laughs a little bit. “That’s the thing about ghosts.”

 

After awhile, Liam pushes his water away, considers it. He can’t just sit here all day and tie his mind into knots thinking about this. He has things to do. “I need to get back to work,” he says. 

When he looks at Harry, Harry looks – surprised, maybe. “Just like that?” 

Liam shrugs at him. “What else? I have a job to finish.” 

Harry blinks at him. “No one’s ever stayed before.” 

Liam hauls himself to his feet. “Don’t have much of a choice,” he says, and picks up his water bottle, setting it on the counter. He hesitates. “Can you – Can I leave this here?” 

Harry looks at it and then back to Liam. “You can leave it wherever you like,” he says, confused. 

“No, I mean – is Louis going to hide it again?” Liam asks, tension squaring his shoulders. It’s still hard to believe he’s having this conversation, he still can’t quite comprehend the way he can look at Harry and see the wall behind him. 

There’s a sudden wooshing through the room, strong enough that Liam’s shirt rustles after it, and suddenly there’s another figure next to Harry, peering at Liam suspiciously. 

“Ask him yourself,” Harry says, shrugging. 

Liam blinks at them, standing next to each other. Louis raises an eyebrow but otherwise doesn’t say anything. 

“Louis?” Liam asks, just to confirm. 

“The one and only,” Louis says. “Friends call me Tommo.”

Liam nods. 

“But you call me Louis,” Louis says, face going stern. 

Liam exhales, shaking his head. “Okay. Can I leave my water bottle here or will it mysteriously disappear again?” 

Louis frowns. “Well, it isn’t fun when you know it’s me,” he grouses. 

Liam frowns back at him, because it’s ridiculous that Louis is acting mad at him – everything is ridiculous. “Okayyy,” he says, and sets his drink down. He supposes if it disappears, it disappears. It’s really not worth fighting with a ghost over.

Liam walks back to the living room and tries resolutely not to think about the two ghosts in the kitchen. 

 

Liam works through the afternoon, trying and mostly succeeding not to jump every time the old house creaks, every time he thinks he hears a sound he didn’t make. It gets more difficult after the sun sets; he turns on every light he can find, in the front hall and the kitchen, the bathroom and the hallway, the staircase and the sitting room he hasn’t even looked at yet. Earlier in the morning, before he met his unexpected housemates, he’d moved his mattress to a room on the second floor, and when he finally gets tired enough to go to bed, he turns off his computer, steels himself, and slinks up the staircase. 

It’s dark at the top, even with all the lights blazing down below, and he cringes against his pounding heart as he slides his hand along the wall searching for the light switch. When he finds it, there’s a new kind of terror in his stomach, knowing he’s about to see whatever is waiting for him in the dark. 

He flips the switch and – nothing. The hallway is empty and the house is quiet.

By the time Liam gets into bed, the door shut behind him and the curtains pulled closed, he’s thinking maybe he imagined the whole afternoon. Desperate for human contact – well, close to human. Kind of. But he knows what he saw, knows he talked to those guys, those _ghosts_ – 

His room goes cold suddenly, or he thinks it does. He tightens the blanket around his shoulders. They could be in his room right then, next to him, even, and he’d never know. His stomach turns at the thought, and he squeezes his eyes shut against the dark room and tries to swallow down his panic. 

There’s a knock on the door. 

Liam jerks up in bed, his eyes flying open, trying to see anything, wishing the light switch wasn’t across the room, next to the door. 

“Liam?” a voice comes floating through the door, muffled. “It’s me, it’s – Harry.” 

“Um,” Liam says. He clenches his fists in the blankets. “Um, come in?” 

There’s nothing for a moment and then a soft rustling sound. A moment later Harry appears at the foot of Liam’s bed, only visible because of that slight glow he gives off. Even though Liam’d invited him in, he still jerks away from the sight. 

“Jesus,” he says, his hand over his heart. “Jesus, you couldn’t have opened the door and walked in like a normal person?” 

Harry blinks at him, confused, and then looks toward the door. “Oh,” he says, smiling a little. He floats back toward it, flicks his hand and the lights come on. “’m sorry, didn’t think of it.” He keeps his distance then, not moving closer. “Funny you’d expect me to act like a normal person though.” 

Liam relaxes a little with the lights on, and remembering – what Harry is like. Sort of like Liam himself, ghostliness aside. Not a frightening sort of ghost; Liam’s memory and the dark had turned him into something else. 

“Right,” Liam says. He still gathers his blankets around him like a shield. “Er, can I help you with something?” 

Harry drifts closer but doesn’t look at Liam; he looks around, like he’s seeing the room for the first time. “Was going to ask you the same thing,” he says finally, moving the curtain aside to look out the window. 

“Me?” Liam asks. “I was trying to sleep.” 

“You know, when you’re a ghost,” Harry says, going on as if Liam hadn’t spoken, “You have a heightened sense of… emotions, I suppose. You can feel people’s energy, when they’re scared, or anxious, you can feel it.” 

Liam quiets; he thinks he sees where Harry is going now. 

“We’re not, like, evil spirits, Liam, we’re not going to do anything,” Harry says softly, letting the curtain fall shut. 

“I don’t have much experience with the supernatural,” Liam says when Harry lets the silence drag without saying anything else. “Maybe that’s exactly what an evil spirit would say before he possesses me.” 

Harry laughs, then, turning to face Liam. If Liam doesn’t look directly at him, just lets him hover in the peripheral of Liam’s vision, then it’s almost like he’s a boy just like Liam; maybe someone he met at school, like Zayn. A roommate. Liam almost laughs out loud. 

“The way I see it, your choices are to trust me, or to never sleep again,” Harry says. 

He has a point, but, “I can’t help it,” Liam says. “I can’t help being scared. I don’t want to be.” 

“Are you scared right now?” Harry asks, drifting closer. Even when Liam turns to look at him, startled out of his reverie where Harry is a normal, live person, and is reminded of Harry’s transparency, the way he doesn’t touch the ground, the glow he emits, he realizes he’s not. 

Liam shakes his head and Harry gives him a crooked sort of grin. 

“Would it help if I stayed?” Harry asks then, almost hesitant. He remembers what Harry said earlier, about how no one stays, so maybe this is almost as new to him. “Then you would know exactly who is in the room instead of imagining.” 

Liam wants to say no – he’s an adult, he’s going to have to be able to sleep in the dark, by himself, but the “yes” tumbles out of his mouth before he can think twice. 

“Yes,” he says again, and he thinks to himself, just for tonight. “Yes, I think that might help.”

Harry turns the light back off, but Liam can still see him when he settles, nearly seated on the floor by the door, giving Liam space. Liam settles back down into bed, curled on his side with Harry in his eye line, yawning hugely. 

“Talk to me a bit,” Liam says, to break the thick silence between them. “Tell me a story.”

Harry hums a little. “How about a joke instead?” he asks. 

Liam wants to argue, but he doesn’t have the energy. “Okay,” he agrees. 

“Why didn’t the ghost go to the party?”

“Um,” Liam says, shutting his eyes. “I don’t know, why?” 

“Because he had no body to go with.” 

Liam’s laugh is muffled into his pillow. “That’s a good one,” he says blearily. 

He keeps his eyes shut but he thinks it feels like maybe Harry moves closer. “I’ll tell you more tomorrow,” Harry whispers. Liam burrows further into his bed. “Good night, Liam.” 

“Good night, Harry,” Liam says, and he falls asleep before he can say thank you. 

 

When Liam wakes in the morning the first thing he sees in the morning light filtering through the window is Harry, floating reclined, his head turned toward the door. Liam thinks he might be sleeping, if that’s a thing that ghosts do, but when Liam shifts, turning on his side, Harry sits up and looks at him. 

So it wasn’t all a dream after all. 

“Good morning,” Harry says, and he seems – shy about it, or something. 

“Hi,” Liam says, and regards him seriously. Apparently this is a thing he’s going to have to live with, these ghosts in his house. Really it’s their house, isn’t it, they’ve been there longer – Liam doesn’t know how long. But they’ve not done anything to hurt him, and maybe Liam is naïve but he doesn’t think they’re going to, not Harry anyway. He’d had plenty of chances the first day, but here he is, floating by Liam’s door so he can sleep better. 

“I feel weird that I haven’t met your other – the other ghost,” Liam says. 

“What, Niall?” Harry says. “Oh, you’ll like him,” and before Liam can say anything Harry’s dashed out of the room – straight through the door, Liam’s sheets swaying in the breeze behind him. 

Liam blinks, and in a moment two figures come tumbling back through the wall. They’re both laughing, tangled up together. 

“You’re an idiot,” the one Liam doesn’t know says, but he’s grinning at Harry and Harry’s grinning back. 

Harry turns his attention back to Liam. “Liam, this is Niall,” he says formally. “Niall, Liam.” 

Niall turns his attention to Liam. He’s just like Harry and Louis, a normal looking boy around Liam’s age, but transparent. He seems to glow a little more than the other two, but maybe it’s just his blond hair, still shockingly bright despite his current state. 

“How’s it going, brother,” Niall says, nodding in Liam’s direction. Liam almost reaches out to shake his hand, before he remembers. “Welcome to the big house.” 

“Thank you,” Liam says. “It’s, er. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Niall nods at him before turning back to Harry. “Is that all you got me out of bed for this hour of the morning?” 

Harry throws a fake punch in Niall’s direction and he ducks it, laughing. “Not like we sleep anyway, Horan,” he says, and that answers Liam’s question from earlier. 

“Still like my rest,” Niall says. He floats in the direction of the door. “See you ‘round, Liam,” he says, and then he’s gone.

Harry gestures after him. “So that’s Niall,” he says. 

“Seems nice,” Liam offers, pulling the comforter up around his shoulders, shy again in the morning light. 

“Oh,” Harry says, moving away toward the wall he’d tumbled through with Niall. “Right, well, you’ve survived the night now, hey?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, “Um, thanks, for, you know–“ 

Harry waves him off before he can finish. “No, no, it was nothing,” he says. He’s moving backwards, half through the wall before he finishes talking. 

“Okay,” Liam nods. “See you later then?” 

“See you,” Harry says, and he vanishes. 

 

Liam eats breakfast alone, sitting at the kitchen table, and then he goes into town, buys paint and cleaning supplies, tools and more food. He works into the afternoon, sanding down floorboards in the front hall and painting, and that’s when Harry pops up again, materializing next to Liam’s computer. 

“Jesus,” Liam says, jumping when he sees Harry there. “I don’t know if I can get used to that.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, but he’s distracted, peering at Liam’s computer. “I’ll try to remember to use the door. You like Elvis?”

Liam’s got his iTunes on shuffle; he’d barely even registered swaying along to Love Me Tender, focused on painting evenly. “Doesn’t everyone like Elvis?” he asks. 

_I’ll be yours through all the years, ‘til the end of time_ filters through the air, and Harry has an odd look on his face. It makes Liam put his paintbrush down. “What, you’re a fan?” 

Harry looks startled to realize Liam is still there. “Oh,” he says. “Yeah, I mean – yes. This song reminds me of my mum. She used to listen to it while she cooked, and sometimes she sang it to my sister and I before bed, when we were really little.” 

Liam is startled. He hadn’t thought about that, about Harry having a life before this, but of course he did. Liam thought, though, that ghosts weren’t supposed to remember their lives when they were alive. 

“You remember that?” he asks without thinking. 

Harry looks at him, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I thought ghosts didn’t remember their old lives,” Liam says.

Harry just keeps looking at him. The music clicks over to something else, a Justin Timberlake song from the summer. “Is that what they say?” Harry murmurs quietly, a smiling pulling at his lips. “No, we remember.” 

There are questions burning at the back of Liam’s tongue, but he doesn’t know what he’s allowed to ask. Harry’s face didn’t seem open to questions, and Liam isn’t sure he wants to see that look again anyway, the one on his face when he’d talked about his mother. 

“What’s this song, then?” Harry asks, stooping in front of Liam’s laptop. The light from the screen passes through him and throws odd shadows around the room, but Liam, strangely, is already feeling used to it. 

“It’s Justin Timberlake,” he says, and then he realizes that Harry probably doesn’t have any way to listen to music, to do anything. “Oh my god, you don’t know this song, do you? Oh my god,” and his painting is forgotten, “There must be so much music you haven’t heard. Hold on, move out of the way, I’ll show you.” 

Liam’s got his laptop across his legs, scrolling through his list of music, before Harry reacts at all. When Liam finally glances up at him, suddenly uneasy with his silence, Harry is looking at him, wide-eyed and surprised. 

“Come on, sit here,” Liam says, patting the floor next to him, so Harry can see the names. “Let’s start with a personal favorite,” he says, and Jay Z booms across the room while the paint dries in its open container across the room, forgotten. 

 

“This is what I wanted to do, before,” Harry says. Liam has no idea how long it’s been, but the light dimming through the windows suggests the sun will be down soon. Liam’s trepidation from the night before is gone completely, and it’s almost unbelievable to Liam how easy it can be to adapt to things. 

“What, music?” Liam asks. He looks for something else to show Harry; he’d liked Jay Z and Beyonce, passed on Katy Perry and Justin Bieber. In the end Liam goes back to the old stuff, the stuff Harry knows as well as he does, and he sets his laptop aside as Nina Simone croons _lilac wine, I feel unready for my love…_

“Yeah,” Harry confirms. He hums along for a moment and then stops short. “It’s been so long since I’ve thought of it. I was in a band, even.”

Liam nearly asks, “What happened?” but he catches himself in time. “I want to do music, too,” he says instead. 

“Yeah?” Harry asks. “Doing what?” 

Liam shrugs, going shy. “I thought I’d be a singer when I was little,” he says. “My dad would drive me around to these little performances for 15 people, if I was lucky.” Liam hazards a glance at Harry and he’s watching Liam with rapt attention, like it’s the most interesting story in the world. Liam has to remind himself Harry doesn’t meet that many people. “Now I’m studying education, so maybe I can be a music teacher or something.” 

“That’s a great idea,” Harry says when Liam falls quiet. “I think you’ll be so good at that.” 

Liam grins then, he can’t help it. “How do you know that?” he asks. “You don’t even know me.” 

Harry shrugs and pulls a face. “I know you a little,” he says finally. “I know you’ve worked hard, and you’re doing this for your parents. I know you’ve been nice to me even when you were scared. You’ve been calm about things. You were patient with Lou.” Harry’s nodding now, even though he’s not looking at Liam. Liam is looking at him, though. “Yeah, I reckon you’d be a brilliant teacher.” 

Liam doesn’t know how to respond; it’s a kind thing to have said, the kind of thing Liam actually needed to hear, even if he didn’t know it. “Thanks, Harry,” he says finally. 

“You’re welcome,” comes the soft response, and then they sit quietly, music filling the room bathed gold in the late afternoon light. 

 

Liam’s going to bed that night, walking down the hallway to the bedroom he’s adopted as his own, when Harry appears in front of him. Liam jumps, but only a little. 

“Hi,” Harry says, and waves shyly, hovering outside Liam’s door. 

“Hi, Harry,” he says, pausing to see what he wants. 

“I just wanted to see if you’ll be all right tonight,” Harry says. “Or if you wanted, um –“ 

“If I need protection again?” Liam asks, a smile playing around his mouth. The truth is, after meeting Niall and spending all afternoon talking music with Harry, Liam feels – definitely not scared. Maybe even good. He imagines the house without them, how gapingly empty and lonely it would be to live out here with absolutely no interaction. After the last few days, Liam reckons he would choose the friendly ghosts every time. 

Harry’s still waiting to hear if Liam wants him in the room. “I dunno, mate,” Liam says, and walks in to the room. Harry follows further behind him, waiting in the doorway, and Liam shoots him a grin. “You got any more jokes?”

 

Liam keeps making his way through the rooms downstairs, scrubbing the kitchen down from top to bottom and hauling bags upon bags of trash out. His classes start in the middle of the week and he has to set an alarm to remind himself to stop working, and then he hunkers down in a fold-up chair he got at the hardware store, his laptop on his knees, and logs in to the lecture. 

“What are you doing?” Harry appears at his side within 3 minutes, and Liam barely even jumps anymore when he materializes out of nowhere. Liam is scribbling down notes, his notebook balanced on one knee and his laptop on the other. 

“Class,” he mutters. “I’m taking a full course load while I’m out here.” 

Harry is quiet for a long time but Liam can still see him out of the corner of his eye, watching the lecture with interest. When it ends an hour later he’s still standing there. 

“What class was that?” he asks finally. 

Liam checks to see if Zayn is on Skype; he’s not, so he shuts the laptop down. “Early childhood development,” he says. “Like a psych class for education majors.” 

Harry smiles. “I wanted to study psychology in uni,” he says, nearly wistful. 

Liam doesn’t know how to broach this topic yet, the things Harry misses out on that Liam gets to do. “Yeah?” he asks. “Why psychology?” 

“I wanted to study a lot of things,” he says. He stretches out near the floor, looking comfortable as he floats. “Psychology, sociology, business, law.” 

“What did you want to do when you grow up?” Liam asks, and immediately regrets it. Harry won’t grow up. 

Harry doesn’t seem to notice though. “I told you,” he says, grinning, “I wanted to be a singer. All that other stuff was just back-up.” 

Liam laughs. “Right, of course,” he says.

Harry’s face grows serious then. “Do you mind if I watch your lectures?” he asks. “I don’t – I kind of miss, school, if you can believe that.” 

He looks at Harry, thinks of the way he’s always appeared so suddenly. Can ghosts get bored? Liam doesn’t know, but he can’t imagine spending years awake in this house without anyone else around. 

“Of course you can,” Liam says. He opens his laptop again. “You don’t even have to wait for my school, there’s all kinds of lectures on the internet anytime you want to watch something.” 

Harry drifts closer, peering over Liam’s shoulder, making goosebumps rise across Liam’s skin. Harry doesn’t seem to notice. 

Liam goes back to working on the house eventually, but first he finds Harry a talk to watch, something in the sociology section, the science of happiness or something like that. He leaves Harry in the front hall while he cleans out the bathroom, but every time he peers out Harry is bent over the screen, face focused with concentration, and Liam can’t help but smile. 

 

He’s cleaning the sitting room off the front hall, and he’s gotten so used to things appearing around him that he almost doesn’t look over when he catches a movement out of the corner of his eye. But something’s different about it – different in that it isn’t Harry coming to hang out with him, and Liam glances over to see the biggest spider he’s ever seen descending from the ceiling, hanging right next to Liam’s head. 

He’s not proud of the scream he lets out, but it’s instinctual. 

Within moments all three of his ghost housemates appear in the room; Harry looks concerned, peering at Liam’s face; Niall looks perturbed, looking at the spider; and Louis is nearly pissing himself laughing. 

“Are you okay, Liam?” Harry asks, drifting closer to him. 

“You’re scaring Dave,” Niall complains. 

Louis just keeps laughing. 

Liam’s heart is racing; he leans over to rest his hands on his knees until it slows. “Dave?” he asks when he’s calmed down, turning to Niall. 

Niall reaches for the spider but it climbs right through his hand. “Yeah,” he says like it’s obvious. “Dave.” 

“Niall’s fond of animals,” Harry informs him. 

Louis is just starting to quiet down, still shaking with a burst of laughter every few seconds. “Mate, I have never heard a scream that high pitched before,” he says. “And I grew up with four sisters, so.”

Liam’s probably blushing, but he stands by it; the spider, which Liam will not be calling Dave, is huge, and it appeared right next to his head. He frowns at Louis, still giggling in the doorway. 

Even Harry’s lips are twitching up, but at least he’s trying to hide it. “Really,” he asks, moving closer still. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Liam says stubbornly, moving away from him. “You’ve all got my nerves on edge is all.” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says mournfully, and almost succeeds in making Liam feel bad. Louis’s laughter, drifting through the house even after he’s disappeared again, quickly makes that feeling dissipate. 

 

Between classes and his lack of expertise in home repair, it takes Liam three weeks to finish cleaning out the first floor of Whipstaff Manor. He still has two floors above him and the attic, but he figures the first milestone deserves a celebration anyway, and when he drives into town for food for the week he picks up a six pack of beer. 

It’s a warm day, even though it’s getting to be fall, and after he hauls in the groceries and other supplies he’d picked up in town, he peels off his shirt, cracks open a beer and puts on a playlist Zayn made him during second year, bouncing his head to Usher and Drake and The Weeknd. Now that the windows are clear of dust and cobwebs, the rotting floorboards pulled up and replaced, the front hall doesn’t look so frightening. It’s big and light and when the chandelier is replaced and furniture is brought in, it might even look fancy. 

Liam’s already made it through his second beer when Harry appears, which is strange because he usually rushes in when Liam’s got the music going. He makes up for lost time quickly enough, startling Liam out of his reverie of admiring his own handiwork in the room by wolf-whistling from the staircase. 

Liam laughs at him. He’s gotten used to more than just Harry’s ghostly form; he’s also gotten used to the way he likes to tease , the way he likes to laugh. In ghost stories Liam has heard, the spirits are always so negative; sad and tortured and sometimes angry. Harry isn’t like that at all. 

“It’s hot,” Liam defends himself against Harry’s teasing. 

“I’m not complaining,” he says. He drifts toward Liam’s computer, checks out the playlist, but doesn’t comment on it. He makes as though he’s sitting in the chair Liam had vacated to make his way around the room, even though Liam can see he’s actually hovering above it. 

It’s probably the two and half a beers that make Liam chatty, make him start speaking in ‘if’s. “If we’d met at uni, do you think we’d have been friends?” he asks, his tongue starting to feel heavy in his mouth. 

Harry’s looking up at him from the chair, his face unreadable. “Maybe,” he says finally. “Hard to say, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” Liam agrees. He drags his fingertips against a wall he’d removed peeling wallpaper from just a few days before. “Zayn would like you, I think,” he goes on mindlessly. “Zayn doesn’t like a lot of people, but I think he would warm up to you.” 

Harry is smiling when Liam looks back at him. “Warm up to me?” he asks lightly. “Why wouldn’t he love me straight away? I’m brilliant.” 

Liam’s already shaking his head. “No,” he says, “he wouldn’t love you right away, but he comes around. He’d do it for me, anyway.” 

“For you, huh,” Harry says quietly. Liam drains his third beer and moves toward the chair to set it with the other empty bottles. Harry lets him get close and watches him do it. 

“Do you play sports at uni?” he asks, as Liam contemplates opening a fourth drink. Harry’s question distracts him away and he takes a seat on the floor, leaned back on his hands, looking up at Harry in his chair. 

“I run,” Liam says, “And I swim, and play a bit of footie, just casual though. Zayn and I took up boxing last year, but just for fitness.” 

“So just a bit of sports then,” Harry says, his smile wide and always so teasing. 

Liam laughs, very aware of the expanse of his teeth showing. “A bit,” he agrees. 

“I reckon if we met at uni,” Harry says, his eyes traversing the room and not quite ever landing on Liam, “I reckon I’d go to your practices and hope for you to take your shirt off. Wait outside the locker room and try to charm you with my good looks and hilarious jokes.” 

Liam slides a hand across his bare belly as the smile stretches over his face. “Don’t you do that now?” he asks dopily. 

Harry’s laugh echoes across the empty floor. 

 

It comes up again when Liam is sober, but it’s Harry who starts the conversation this time, watching Liam write an email to his mum. 

“Would your mum like me?” Harry asks. “If we were friends, like from uni, would she like me?”

Liam shrugs, picking at the keyboard. “My mum likes all my friends,” he says. “She pretends to, anyway.”

Harry’s quiet, and when Liam looks over he’s looking out the window, his feet crossed beneath him. 

“What about people you date?” he asks finally. Liam finishes typing, ‘love uuuu don’t worry byeeeee’, and then he hits send and turns so his whole body is facing Harry. “Did she like the people you’ve dated?” 

“I haven’t brought many of them home,” Liam says slowly. He isn’t sure what Harry is getting at, what he wants to hear. “In sixth form I had a girlfriend. Mum liked her, but Roo didn’t. First year of uni I dated a guy from my hall, and we had lunch with her one day, but she didn’t seem to be a fan.”

Harry turns to him then, looking curious. “Why not?” 

Liam shrugs. “Said he wasn’t very polite. Not nice enough to the waiter at lunch, or something.” 

“Really.” It isn’t a question, coming from Harry, but somehow he sounds like he’s won something. 

“Yeah.” Liam shrugs. “It didn’t last long after that so it didn’t much matter, I guess.” 

Harry’s eyes are closed; he looks relaxed. “Being nice does matter, Liam,” he says, his voice firm. 

Liam watches him and tries not to think the things he wants to think. It doesn’t matter what his mum would think of Harry; his mum won’t ever think of Harry. “Yes,” Liam says, and gets to his feet to head off for more cleaning. “You’re right. It does matter.” 

 

The second floor isn't in as terrible shape as the first, but it's still pretty bad. There's one less room to clean because Liam's already moved into one of the bedrooms, picking up an old bed frame to hold his blowup mattress, clearing the room of any rubbish before he'd spent a night in it. The bathroom, too, he's already spent time sweeping out, but still - there are more rooms up here than down below, and it's hard to think he still has two more above it before he's even done. 

Still, there's something to be said about the house. The thought hits Liam as he starts in on one of the other bedrooms; it's in terrible shape, full of rotten furniture and slashed up wallpaper, and when he turns on the light and pulls back the curtain he feels dread. 

And then Harry walks in the door. 

He's started using doors now. He never says it but Liam knows it's a courtesy to him, after Liam had jumped one too many times when Harry appeared out of nowhere in front of him. 

So Harry walks in the door, surveys the room and whistles. And Liam suddenly doesn't feel so bad. 

"Haven't been in here forever," Harry says, moving about the room. "Bit of a mess, innit?" 

He looks at Liam from across the room. As soon as he catches Liam's eye, Harry starts to smile a little bit, and Liam, damn himself, can't help but smile back. 

"Needs some work," Liam says, forcing himself to look away from Harry and around the room. "But I don't think it's so bad." 

 

It's late and Liam's finishing a paper he has to submit by 9 a.m., lounged across the floor in the front hall. Maybe because he'd put all his things in there and slept there the first night, but the front hall is where Liam always ends up, where he writes emails and skypes Zayn and reads and plays lectures for Harry. He sleeps in his room, but if he's not cleaning or sleeping, he's in the front hall. 

It's amazing that even with no schedule of his own, even with nothing really to do out here except clean and focus on his classes, he still manages to procrastinate his homework until the last minute. 

"Why did I do this," he whines, laying his head on his hands in front of his computer. "I could have written this paper weeks ago." 

"We had other things to do," Harry says. As much as he likes lectures, he is not the most helpful at keeping Liam on homework tasks. "We had to survey the history of Motown music, and then we had to watch that documentary about people who climb Mount Everest, and then you had to show Niall all the results of every Irish football game from the last Euros." 

Liam whines against his hands. That is all stuff he had done, true, and he had probably enjoyed it more than writing his paper. "But if I'd done it then, then I wouldn't be doing it now," Liam says. He's past the point of making sense, but Harry doesn't point it out. 

"You're almost done," he says instead. He leans over to peer at Liam's screen. "Only... six pages to go." Harry pulls a face and leans back. 

"You're so lucky you don't have to go to school," Liam says without thinking. He taps out another sentence lazily, plucking at the keyboard keys like he's angry at them. When he finishes typing his thought he looks up, realizing Harry hasn't answered him. 

Harry's looking at him but his face is unreadable. He crosses his eyes at Liam when he catches him looking but his mouth stays in the same terse line.

"Sorry," Liam mumbles. His head hurts from looking at the computer screen and he pushes his hands against his temples, relieving the pressure. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that." 

"No," Harry says finally. His form seems to relax. "It's okay. Maybe I am lucky, never did like homework much." 

"Yeah, but," Liam says. He taps his fingers against the keyboard restlessly, watching the scramble of letters that appears across the screen. He holds down the backspace key and watches them disappear. "Nevermind," he says.

"No," Harry says again. "Say what you're thinking." 

Liam leaves his paper to be for awhile, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "I mean, homework sucks," he allows. "But in the grand scheme it's a pretty stupid thing to complain about." In comparison to being dead and trapped in a decrepit house with two other ghosts, he means but doesn't say. 

Harry floats over so he's above Liam, as if he's laying on his stomach on some couch that Liam can't see. "Problems are relative," he says, peering down at Liam. 

Liam stares at him. He can see the light from the chandelier, both surrounding him and through him. He wants to close his eyes, but he doesn't. Where Liam had felt stressed but otherwise okay before, now the silence in the room is uneasy, and Harry is looking at Liam like he wants something. 

"Can I ask you something?" Liam asks to break it. 

"Yes," Harry says, and almost sounds relieved. 

Liam searches for the right question. 

"Are you ever lonely?" is what comes out. Because that's what Liam always felt being inside this house. Not lonely for himself, but it just felt like a lonely place; the gaping, drafty rooms, the high ceilings, the dust and dirt from being abandoned. Liam doesn't even see any rats in the place, so deserted it is. 

"I have Louis and Niall," Harry says. He's studying Liam like he knows something Liam doesn't.

“Right,” Liam says. He blinks slowly. “Maybe what I mean is… do you ever get, like, sad?” 

Harry looks down at him thoughtfully, like he’s really considering the question.

“Not lately,” he says finally, and before Liam can process that he changes tone. “Look, it isn’t the same for us as it is for you. Time passes differently, you feel things differently. Wanting things… it’s different. You’re detached.”

Liam rubs a hand over his stomach idly. “You don’t want things?” he asks. 

Harry pauses. He shuts his eyes briefly. “That isn’t what I said,” he says softly, and then he turns the game around before Liam can ask what he did mean. “Why, are you lonely here? Or sad?” 

Liam blinks up at him. “I thought I would be,” he says. “It seems like I should be, doesn’t it?” 

Harry shrugs wordlessly. 

“No,” Liam says. He lets his eyes close. He needs to finish his paper but for a moment he is going to rest. “No, I haven’t been lonely since the first night.” 

Liam keeps his eyes closed for a long time but the lights above don’t let him fall asleep. “Liam,” Harry says finally, and when Liam opens his eyes Harry is still right there, hovering over him. His face closes off and he turns it away. “Play some more Stevie Wonder, hm?” he says, his voice sounding like it’s coming from far away. Liam turns on Superstition and goes back to his paper. 

 

A few days later, Liam is scrubbing down walls in the last bedroom on the second floor while Harry lounges nearby listening to an old jazz record. This has become the norm; Liam works on the house or does his classes online, and Harry hangs out with him. Sometimes Niall comes down and asks questions: who won the Premiere League last year, who’s the President of the United States, what’s been happening on EastEnders. Louis mostly stays away, but Liam sometimes finds his water or food moved around, so Liam knows he’s still around.

He’s humming along to Duke Ellington when a woosh comes through the room so quick and sudden it leaves Liam shivering in its wake. 

“Visitors!” Louis’s voice booms through the room.

“Visible, Louis,” Harry reminds gently, and then Louis materializes across the room next to Harry. 

“Hi, Louis,” Liam says. 

“Yeah, hi,” Louis says, waving a careless hand in Liam’s direction. He turns toward Harry and Liam can see his grin from across the room. “Visitors, Harry. Niall saw them from the attic window.” 

Harry spares a glance toward Liam before he turns back to Louis. “How long, then?” 

Liam sets his tools down, as he gets the feeling this might be something that impacts him too. 

“Two minutes,” Louis says, and then seems to realize thoroughly that Liam is still there watching him. “Oh,” he says, and pulls a face. “Maybe Liam should go… somewhere else.” 

Harry frowns. “That’s rude, Louis. It’s his house too.” 

“What’s going on?” Liam interrupts. “Who is visiting?” 

“We get visitors from time to time,” Harry says. “Apparently we’ve something of a reputation.” 

Liam remembers the website again and it clicks – people coming in search of ghosts. “Oh,” Liam says. “Oh. Ghost hunters or something, yeah?” 

“Right,” Louis confirms, and Liam thinks if he was standing on the floor he’d be bouncing in anticipation. “Maybe you could go upstairs so they get what they’re coming for.” He turns back to Harry. “Niall’s in the attic ready for some shrieking.” 

“You could go up and sit with him,” Harry says to Liam. “I’ve got to go downstairs because I’ve got the best voice for whispering in people’s ears.” 

“He does,” Louis confirms. “And I’ve got to be down there too, because Harry’s too nice for pinching and hair pulling.” 

“I am,” Harry nods. 

“Oh,” Liam says, and Louis floats near to him, encouraging Liam out of the room and toward the staircase. “But I don’t just want to sit in a room while Niall shrieks,” he protests, stumbling up the first few steps. “Can I do something?” 

Louis stops then, face turned up at him looking surprised. “You want to help us haunt fleshies?” he asks. 

“Yeah!” Liam says enthusiastically. “What can I do?” 

Louis turns to Harry and they have some sort of conversation with their faces, or maybe in some kind of silent ghost language, and Liam just has to wait them out. Louis turns back and looks at him head to toe. “Those are some heavy work boots you’re wearing,” he observes, a smile curling his lips. Outside Liam hears car doors slamming; he flicks the lights off on his way up the stairs. 

 

“Niall?” Liam whispers as he pushes into the attic. 

“Hi,” his voice comes; Liam spins to find him sitting by the window, peering out. 

“I’m on stomp duty,” Liam says, picking up one foot to show off his boots. 

Niall snorts. “Harry’s got you haunting now?” he asks, and before Liam can respond Niall’s shushing him, leaning all the way out of the wall to look down. Liam has to look away to keep from panicking, even knowing Niall can’t get hurt. 

Niall’s voice drops to a whisper. “They’re inside,” he says. 

Liam waits, but it’s quiet. They’re too far up to hear anything, but Niall isn’t shrieking, just sitting quietly, looking unbothered. 

“What happens now?” Liam whispers. 

Niall waves him off. “Gotta give them a few minutes to look around, get a little cocky,” he says. “Then Harry’ll say something, real quiet, so they think maybe they’re imagining it – then Louis will do, you know, whatever it is Lou does, and then me.” Niall pauses, glances at Liam. “And you, too, I guess.” 

Liam nods. “Okay, so,” he says. “You’ll just let me know, then.” 

It’s a few more minutes before Niall goes still, like he’s straining to listen; Liam still can’t hear anything. Liam remembers how Harry told him they can sense humans and how they’re feeling. 

“They’re on the third floor,” Niall murmurs. “They’re nervous. Louis must want to play, he usually scares them out before they get up so high.” 

Liam stands still and silent, not trusting himself to not give away the game too early. Suddenly Niall looks at him and nods. “Go?” Liam whispers, lifting his foot. 

“Go,” Niall confirms, and Liam lets his foot drop heavy on the wood floors, enough that the windows shake a little. All of a sudden Niall screams, and even though Liam knew it was coming he still jumps, spins to look at him, but he’s just grinning. 

“Stomp, stomp,” Niall encourages, “They’re just below us.” He shrieks again, so Liam does. 

When he pauses, Liam can hear more screaming, human screams, coming from downstairs, and he beams at Niall. “They’ll be on their way out soon, I reckon,” Niall says, and Liam has the bright idea to help them. He clunks his way to the attic stairs, pushes open the latch, and Niall catches on quickly, wooshes over to let out an ear splitting scream just before Liam runs down the stairs as fast as he can. 

The visitors leave so fast the front door is still swinging open as their Jeep peels away. 

In the front hall, the others appear next to Liam, who’s laughing so hard he has to sit down. Even Louis materializes without anyone asking him to. He looks at Liam with mirth in his eyes. 

“I must say,” he says, “The running down the stairs in those boots bit was inspired. That might be the fastest I’ve ever seen fleshies run out of here.”

“Thank you,” Liam says, trying not to flush under Louis’s praise. Harry’s quiet next to him, but he’s smiling softly. “To be honest, I kind of just wanted to get away from Niall’s shrieking.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you,” Niall says. “Get what you wanted, Lou?”

Louis is still looking at Liam, glances at Harry and then back. “Yes, suppose I did,” Louis says. “I suppose I did.” 

 

Liam is sprawled across the floor on his stomach in the front hall again, attending a lecture online. He’s taking lazy notes and scrolling through his iTunes, making Harry a playlist at the same time, and it’s probably the multitude of distractions that makes him ask Harry to pass over his water. 

He catches himself almost as soon as he does. “Oh, sorry, you can’t –“ he starts to say, but Harry’s already moving, and the next thing Liam knows his water is next to him. Harry is looking at him blankly.

“You knew we could move things,” Harry says finally, when Liam just stares. “That’s how we met in the first place. Louis moved your water.” 

Which is true, of course. But Liam looks at Harry every day, looks through him. Watches him walk through walls and float above the floor. “I don’t get it,” Liam says. “You go right through doors.” 

“Yes,” Harry agrees. 

Liam blinks at him dumbly. “Well, how do you explain that?” he asks finally. 

Harry just grins. “Maybe we can find a lecture online that will tell us,” he suggests, but Liam just frowns. He’s being serious. Harry sighs. “It didn’t come with a handbook, Liam,” Harry says. “I don’t know how it works, or why. When I want to touch things, I sort of – sort of concentrate on my fingers, or my hand or whatever, and thinks about touching it, and then I can.” 

“So if I tried to touch you –“ Liam starts. He stops. It’s not something he’s ever thought about; he’s thought about touching Harry as a human, and then tried to unthink about it, but Harry as a ghost – he didn’t think it was possible. 

“If you did it without me knowing, you couldn’t,” Harry says. “Try it.” 

He floats close enough so that Liam can, and turns his head away so he won’t see what Liam’s planning. Liam lifts a hand but hesitates, unsure if he wants to know. 

“Will it hurt you?” he asks finally. 

“No,” Harry says. “Do it.” His tone is strangely flat. 

Liam reaches out for Harry’s elbow, hesitates just a moment a centimeter away and then pushes forward. His hand keeps going, right though Harry. It’s a blast of cold air, like he’s stuck his arm in a freezer, but otherwise, nothing. 

Harry turns to face him. Liam’s heart is racing and he doesn’t know how to stop it. “Oh,” he says. “That was – you’re very cold.” 

Harry’s passive face breaks, then, and he smiles a little. “It’s funny,” he says. “When I was alive I was like a furnace.” 

The ache of Liam wanting to know that for himself is sudden and crushing; he has to clench his fists against his sides to keep from showing any of it on his face. 

Harry holds out a hand. “Okay,” he says. “Now put your hand on mine.” 

Liam holds up his other hand, the one that hadn’t passed through Harry’s elbow, and holds it up millimeters from Harry’s. “Come on,” Harry says, unmoving, when Liam stops. “All the way.” 

Liam looks him in the eye and Harry is willing him forward, but also, Liam knows, giving him an out. Everyone has limits; things they can accept, things that they can’t live with. Harry is always waiting for Liam to reach his, Liam realizes. 

He presses his hand forward and it touches Harry’s without going through. 

It isn’t like touching flesh, not like being palm to palm with another human. Instead it’s just energy; Liam can feel it against his palm, pushing back, and a buzzing in his arm like when his limbs fall asleep, like putting his hand into the static on the television. Harry pushes forward a bit and the force of it pushes Liam’s own hand back, but it still doesn’t feel like something solid against him. 

He lets his hand drop and looks at it. It looks the same as ever. When he glances up, Harry is watching him closely. 

Liam shrugs like none of it was strange at all. “Interesting,” he says, and he turns back to rewind his lecture.

 

Liam forgets about an assignment that’s due and wastes a whole morning rushing through it to get it submitted on time. When he stands up his back is sore from being hunched on the floor in concentration for so long; he stretches it out and groans. 

“You left your milk on the counter.” 

Liam is surprised by the voice not because it comes out of nowhere – he’s used to that now – but because it’s Louis’s voice. He turns to find Louis there, visible and alone, and immediately wonders if there’s some kind of trick coming. 

“What?” he asks. He wonders where Harry and Niall are. It’s not uncommon for Niall to pop in on him with a question or asking to see something, and it’s more rare for Harry not to be around than otherwise, but Louis – well, Liam doesn’t remember ever being around Louis without one of the others. 

“Your milk,” Louis says. He’s looking at Liam but his face seems guarded, almost suspicious. “You left it on the counter after you made tea. It’s going to go bad.” 

“Oh,” Liam says. He’d remembered his assignment halfway through making breakfast, so that actually wouldn’t surprise him. “I’ll put it away. Thanks for letting me know.” 

Louis is still looking at him with that same hooded face. “You’re welcome,” he says finally, and he disappears. 

Liam stands in the empty room a moment longer before he treks off to the kitchen. Just look Louis said, the milk’s stood out on the counter, next to his forgotten mug. He isn’t sure why Louis decided to tell him – he’d think Louis would delight in Liam’s milk going bad, actually – but he’s glad he’ll still have some for tomorrow. 

He puts in back in the fridge and shakes his head. “Bizarre,” he says, and for once no one answers him.

 

"Can you leave here?" 

Harry's floating somewhere near the side of his bed, eyes closed with his arms crossed beneath his head even though he doesn't really rest. He smiles without opening his eyes. "You have a lot of questions," he says. 

"Never hung out much with a ghost before, have I," Liam says, turning on his side toward Harry, arms splayed across the bed, not quite reaching for him. 

Harry turns to look at him, smile fading. "Yeah," he says finally. "I can leave. But where would I go?" 

Liam's eyes refocus past Harry - through him - and out the window. It's dark out; all he can see is black. "You can't stay locked up in here forever, can you?" 

Harry lets his arms drop and sits up, like he's in a chair, but he isn't, of course. "I'm not locked anywhere," he says. His tone is careful. "I've left before." 

"Where did you go?" Liam asks. 

Harry turns so he's facing the window too, and all Liam can see is the hazy back of his head, curls still wild as always, never to be fixed. "At first, right in the beginning, I would go home," Harry says. "My mum's." 

Liam blinks and waits for him to go on. The room seems to be getting colder, and Liam would think Louis is in there, too, except Harry doesn't react at all, and Harry would know. 

"I haven't been in years though," Harry says, spinning suddenly away from the window. He reclines again, kicking his feet up to rest on nothing. Liam doesn't ask why, because maybe it's not his business, maybe Harry doesn't want to tell him. But Harry goes on like he has asked. "It just got too hard. For them, I think. I never went visible or anything, just went to check in, for myself, but I think they could tell I was there." 

"Really?" Liam asks. He sits up, cross legged, facing Harry. "Why do you think that?" 

Harry ignores him for awhile, his eyes closed again. Liam wonders if he wishes he'd not told Liam he doesn't sleep; but if he didn't want to talk, all he'd have to do is disappear, and Liam couldn't do anything about it. "It was like," he says finally, talking even slower than usual, "I'd go in and they'd be fine - Gemma'd be singing along to the radio or my mum would be cooking, whatever. But after a few seconds or a minute they'd just stop. Get all serious. Mum always cried, even if she'd been perfectly find the moment before." He pauses. "I think the people who love you, they just know." 

Liam doesn't know what to say that. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. If it were Zayn, Liam would go sit next to him, throw an arm around his shoulder, pull him in close. But he can't do that with Harry, can't even sit next to him, floating in the air as he is. 

"She didn't cry the last time, though," Harry says suddenly. He turns his face away again, so Liam can't see if his eyes are still closed. His legs swings back and forth through the air like a pendulum. "My mum. The last time she was at the kitchen table, and she was sewing something. I came in through the window and she looked up. I wasn't visible, I know I wasn't. But I swear she looked right where I was, and she made this face, and she said - she said, 'Baby,' the way she used to do when she put me to bed at night, when I was a kid." 

The silence is heavy, and it's still so, so cold in the room. Liam would want to crawl under the covers, pull them tight around his shoulders, but he feels paralyzed. "Harry," he says finally. 

"So I didn't go back anymore after that," Harry says, ignoring Liam completely. "Maybe it's selfish. But I'd rather remember her that way." 

"It's not selfish," Liam rushes to say. "And – even if it was. It's okay to be selfish sometimes." 

Harry turns, unfolding upright, and shoots Liam a sharp look - sharp enough that he almost seems to turn solid for a moment; Liam's not sure he can see through him.

"Sometimes I am," Harry says, his grin sudden and brilliant, and before Liam can catch his breath he's disappeared. 

 

Liam’s started work on the third floor before he finds out how Harry died. 

He wasn’t ever going to ask. He’d thought about it a lot, especially in the beginning; if it was something he was allowed to ask, if he should, if Harry could remember, if he’d want to talk about it. After he’d spoken about his mother Liam had started thinking about it again, but by that point they’d known each other awhile and it had never come up; Harry didn’t seem to want to bring it up. 

Maybe it didn’t matter anyway. Maybe it was better not knowing. 

He’s scrubbing out a closet at the top of the stairs to the third floor, just beneath the hatch that leads to the attic. Niall’s been poking his head through the ceiling all morning, and Liam’s almost gotten used to it and stopped flinching every time his blonde hair appears out of thin air. 

He does, however, still jump when Harry stops in the door. 

Harry smirks a little. “I used the door just like you wanted and you’re still spooked,” he says. Liam left him downstairs with a TED talk after breakfast, but it must be over. 

“You guys are always changing things up,” Liam mutters. “Guy can’t get used to anything.” 

Harry just hums and then watches for a little while Liam gets on his hands and knees to scrub at the baseboards. 

“Did you want another video or something?” Liam asks when it occurs to him, peering up at Harry. “Or music?” 

“Nah,” Harry says, waving him off. “I’m done for the day, I think.” 

“Okay,” Liam says, and goes back to his task. He hasn’t been working out like he did back at home, but it turns out cleaning is a pretty good workout of its own. He wakes up every morning with sore shoulders and often aching arms, if it’s after a window day. He rubs at the back of his neck, stiff, and tries to stretch it out. 

When he looks back again Harry is still there watching. He tosses Liam a grin but it’s forced. 

“Something up?” Liam asks him, putting his scrubber brush aside. He’s still rubbing idly at his neck and Harry watches him. 

“You all right?” he asks, ignoring Liam’s question to him. He makes a gesture towards Liam’s neck. 

Liam lets his hand drop away. “Fine,” he says. “Just sore from cleaning. I’ll live.” He thinks Harry should enjoy the joke, but Harry just quirks that same unnatural smile in his direction and continues to look distracted. 

“I used to have a bad back,” he says absently. “Had to get massages all the time.” 

Liam raises an eyebrow. “Sounds terrible,” he teases. 

Harry shakes his head as if trying to concentrate. “Haven’t thought about that in awhile,” he says. “You forget the bad things first, isn’t that funny?” 

“Sounds nice,” Liam offers, and he barely has the words out before Harry says, “You’ve never asked how I died.” 

Liam stills, his hands in his lap, seated on the floor with Harry above him. He’s not sure Harry’s ever said anything like that before – openly acknowledging that he’d died, that he remembers it. 

“It doesn’t seem like it would be the most pleasant thing to talk about,” Liam says carefully. 

Harry looks perplexed, but Liam isn’t sure it’s directed at him. “No,” he says after a long beat. “It isn’t, it wouldn’t be, but I feel like – I feel like I want you to know.” 

“You want me to know?” Liam repeats. “Why?” 

He can see when Harry gets fidgety. He does it sometimes, Liam wouldn’t even think it was possible for someone who floats rather than standing on the floor, but Harry does; moves just a hint from side to side, like he’s swaying. Twists his hands. He’s doing it now, still stood in the doorway. 

He shrugs, finally. “I want you to know the important things,” he says, his words coming as slow as ever but forcefully, carefully. Liam tries to give the same consideration to them as he listens. 

“If you want to tell me,” he says. “You can. Of course you can.”

Harry doesn’t look at him the whole time he talks, and Liam doesn’t look away. His shoulders are broad, giving way to a wide expanse of back, narrowing into his slim hips and skinny legs. Liam catalogs all of its while he’s not looking, filing it away into the secret part of his brain that no one will ever know about, this not-quite boy-ghost who somehow won him over across time and space and all Liam’s practical considerations. 

“We used to come down here on the weekends,” Harry says. “We were in school together, first years, and we’d come down on weekends, Louis knew the place from sixth form. Sometimes we came on weekdays, too, when we couldn’t bear another day of class, when the weather was good.” Liam can see the half smile from Harry’s profile and he likes to imagine, the three of them in a car on a sunny day, cruising down the to the cliffs.

“Louis liked to surf and I liked to swim and Niall didn’t like to do either, but he’d lay on the beach and read in the sun. He had bad knees, you know. Too painful, even swimming.”

Liam wonders, then, if the others are here. He thinks Harry would have acknowledged it somehow, but Niall’s been popping in and out all morning, and Liam never knows when Louis will turn up, and Harry’s lost in his own world. Still, it seems like they should have had some say in it, in Liam hearing their story; he hopes they did. 

“The weather was perfect when we went out, we even checked the forecast – sometimes we forgot to do that, but we did that day. It was perfect, until it wasn’t. I was swimming close to shore, but Louis, he was so far out – he was a good surfer. He wanted bigger waves.”

Harry’s working to keep his tone even, clinical. Even though his normal voice is slow and morbid, Liam can tell he’s working at it. 

“I was looking at him. We’d been waving to each other, signaling that it was time to go in, the water was getting so choppy. Especially out by him. So I was watching him, and a wave went right over him – usually wouldn’t matter, he was a good swimmer, knew how to deal with big waves, but it lifted his board right over him and I saw it come down – and I knew, I couldn’t see him, but I knew that board knocked him right out. 

“I remember looking back at shore and Niall was right at the edge of the water, his arms in the air. He knew too. I tried to wave him away before I went out for Louis, but by the time I got him and hauled him to the surface Niall was already halfway out to us, and I was glad right then. You know, Liam?” He still doesn’t look at Liam while he’s talking, but Liam nods at him anyway. “I was glad to see Niall coming because I couldn’t hold Louis up and swim in, and the water was getting so much choppier by the second, I could barely keep my own head above the surface –“ 

“He had bad knees,” Harry says softly. “He had bad knees and he hated swimming but he came out for us anyway, in water that rough.” 

Liam sits still as a stone but his heart is racing. He’d tried never to imagine it, but still, he’d thought of it a few times; a car crash, maybe. Something quick, he’d convinced himself. Not like that. 

“When we used to come out here during school,” Harry’s words interrupt Liam’s thoughts, “Sometimes we’d sleep in this house. It was already abandoned then, but not as trashed as it is now. And not haunted.” He throws a wry a smile in Liam’s direction and Liam works hard to smile back. “So I guess that’s why we ended up here. I’m not sure how or why it happened. It wasn’t right away. The funerals were already over by then. There’s a blank period of time for all of us, we don’t know exactly how long.” 

Liam nods slowly and Harry finally meets his gaze, but only briefly. “I don’t know what to say,” Liam confesses, because it feels like a time for being honest. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. I’m glad you felt like you wanted to tell me.” 

“Are you?” Harry asks, ignoring all but the last statement. His gaze is sharp. “Aren’t you weirded out to hear someone tell you how they died?” 

Liam almost laughs then. “I’ve been hanging out with you even though I can see through you for over two months now,” he reminds Harry. “If I was going to be weirded out I think it would have happened by now.”

He expects Harry to laugh, but he doesn’t. His face is serious when he says, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

 

Liam gets an email from Zayn that afternoon to come on Skype as soon as he can. “I miss u man x :) “ it says, and Liam suddenly feels bad; it’s been too long since he talked to Zayn. 

When he signs on Skype Zayn’s there waiting. 

“How’s it going brother?” Liam asks, peering into the screen. Zayn’s in the same place he’d been sitting the first time they’d Skyped like this, his back against the wall, Hulk poster visible to the side. He feels so incredibly far away; it feels like its been so long since Liam talked to him, lifetimes.

“Liam!” Zayn says, leaning into the camera and smiling. “Where have you been all my life?”

Liam smiles. It really has been too long. “Just keeping myself busy with classes and cleaning,” he says, shrugging a little. It almost feels like a lie to reduce his life at the house to those two things when he feels like he’s been doing so much more; it feels like a lie not to mention Louis and Niall. Harry, especially. 

Zayn’s face goes sympathetic. “Is it terrible?” he asks. He’s eating chips. “I miss you so much around here. When can I kick out your subletter for you?”

And Liam had completely forgotten. He has to tell Zayn when he’ll be done, so he’ll still have a place to live. He’d have to start preparing to go back to the real world; this isn’t going to last forever. Somehow in the mess of things he’d discovered here, he’d almost lost sight of why he came. 

“God, I guess I’ll be done in a few weeks here,” Liam says. “Back before Christmas, I reckon.” 

Zayn’s face absolutely lights up, and Liam wonders if it’s strange he doesn’t feel that same elation. “So soon,” Zayn says cheerfully. “I’ll make sure your room is waiting for you.” 

Liam makes himself smile, because he should be smiling. He wonders if Harry is nearby, but at this point, he thinks he would know, and he doesn’t feel anything. “Thanks, man,” he says. “But to answer your question, no, it’s not terrible. It’s actually pretty alright.”

Zayn’s brow goes furrowed and he eats another chip. However, he accepts Liam’s statement at face value, for now at least. “That’s good to hear, man,” he says. “I worry about you out there alone, you know.”

Liam aches to say he’s not alone, but he’d never be able to explain it. “Don’t worry,” he says instead. “Really, don’t worry at all.” 

 

"Harry," Liam says. He's been in bed for awhile now, lights out, but he's still lying there looking at the ceiling, wide awake. 

"Sorry, am I keeping you up?" Harry replies. He's at the window, curtain drawn back; he lets it fall shut as he speaks. 

"No," Liam says. "It's not that. Come over here, yeah?" 

Harry does, and Liam scoots over to one side of the bed. Harry reclines a few inches above the comforter, close enough to make Liam pulls the covers up over his shoulders. He turns so he's facing Harry. 

"I'm almost done with the third floor, you know," Liam says. It's the easy thing to say; easier than, "I'll be leaving soon," easier to let Harry draw the conclusions. 

Liam thinks he does, because his face, usually so expressive, draws blank. "Right, yeah, you've been making great progress," he says. He brings his hands up behind his head, so Liam can't quite make out his face clearly, his elbows, transparent as they are, blurring out the image. 

"Yeah," Liam says quietly. "Another week, maybe." 

"Right," Harry says again, equally as quiet. "Your parents will be pleased." 

It's good of Harry to say it, to remind Liam why he's doing this; remind him that it's a good thing he's working so fast, that he absolutely can't start dragging his feet now, even if every instinct and corner of his brain is screaming at him to do so. 

Liam swallows audibly. "Yeah, they will. Hopefully it sells fast and they can stop worrying for a little."

Harry nods forcefully, too much to be convincing. "I'll try and keep the boys in line," he says finally. "So they won't scare away buyers, yeah?" 

Liam looks at him, but he’s still facing the ceiling, not looking at Liam. Liam flips onto his own back, mirroring him. "That's really nice of you, Harry," he says. "I appreciate that." 

Liam closes his eyes. 

"No problem," Harry says softly. Liam knows when he moves away because the cool breeze in his wake makes Liam shiver. "Get some sleep, okay? See you in the morning."

"See you in the morning," Liam says, and sleeps. 

 

In his dream Harry is standing at the edge of the cliff, and Liam cannot see beyond him. 

Harry’s hair whips in the wind, his shirt snapping back and forth, his arms spread wide. When he turns he is grinning, and Liam stares and stares but he cannot see through. 

Liam walks to him. “Harry,” he says, and touches his arm. His skin is warm and solid. 

Harry is grinning. The sun is behind his head, setting his hair afire, a halo around his face. Liam touches his shoulder, his neck, hugs him close, hands fisted in his clothing. 

“Isn’t is beautiful, Liam?” Harry shouts into his ear over the wind, arms tight around Liam’s waist. “Isn’t it beautiful?” 

 

Liam wakes up gasping. 

Harry’s there, of course. He’s leaned over the table in the corner, looking at one of Liam’s books. “Good morning,” he says, and looks mildly concerned. He drifts to the window and pulls it open, and he looks the same as every other morning, his same old ghostly self. 

Liam flops back onto his pillow, eyes on the ceiling, until Harry comes close enough to be in his sight line. 

“Are you all right?” Harry asks. 

“I dreamed of you,” Liam says, eyes carefully trained on the ceiling. 

He can almost feel Harry’s smile curling. “Oh?” he asks. 

“You were alive,” Liam says. He lets his eyes fall shut again, against the light. “I could touch you.” 

He doesn’t open his eyes for several minutes, but when he does, Harry is gone. 

 

Liam’s cleaning out the attic. He’s worked the house from bottom to top, and now he’s here, and once he’s done it’s just going to be little things to fix up, or things Liam can’t do himself. Then the house will be listed. Liam is almost finished. 

He hasn’t seen Harry since he woke up in the morning, but sometime after lunch he can feel it in the room – like a live wire, something humming that wasn’t there before. 

“Harry?” he asks. He’s almost gotten used to talking to empty rooms. 

Or not so empty, as the case may be. Slowly, Harry appears in front of him, his face drawn and just a hint of guilt. 

“Hello,” Harry says. 

Liam doesn’t look at him, but goes back to pulling debris out of the corner. “How long have you been in here?” 

Harry floats nearby, and Liam can tell he’s trying to get Liam to look at him, but Liam doesn’t. “You called almost as soon as I came in,” Harry says. 

“Mmm,” Liam acknowledges. And then, “Where’ve you been all morning?”

Harry stills. “Around,” he says. 

Liam straightens and pauses to wipe sweat from his brow. Finally he turns to Harry, regards him seriously. “Harry,” he says. 

“What,” Harry replies flatly. 

Liam pauses. “Knock knock,” he says finally. 

Harry freezes. He looks over slowly, his face guarded, but a smile tugs at the corner of his lip. “Who’s there?” he asks. He floats closer, and Liam wonders if it’s intentional. 

“Boo,” Liam says. 

A long beat before Harry delivers his line. “Boo who?” 

Liam takes a deliberate step toward him, close enough to feel that cool, crackling air – or maybe he just imagines it. “Don’t cry,” Liam says softly. “I’m a friendly ghost.” 

Harry freezes, and then a laugh that would be more exhale if Harry breathed. “Terrible,” he says, almost whispering because they’re close enough that he can. “Leave the jokes to me.” 

Liam shrugs, almost lets himself smile but catches it. “Don’t disappear,” he says, that same near-whisper. 

Harry looks suddenly shell-shocked, like he hadn’t realized Liam noticed him doing it, disappearing into thin air whenever he wants. “Okay,” he says finally. “Okay.”

And he doesn’t. He floats quietly, face tipped back into the sun, light filtering clear through him, while Liam cleans, and they don’t say a word.

 

"I have to tell you something." 

Liam's sat on the floor in the front hall, typing a research paper for his primary school teaching techniques final. He squints at the screen, trying to decipher the citation method his professor requires. 

"What's up?" he asks, distracted. 

Harry's fidgeting, Liam realizes when he doesn't answer right away. Liam looks up at him. He can't tell if the look on his face is good or bad, but it's something. 

"Um," Harry says, twisting his hands. "Is it a bad time? I can come back." 

Liam's sufficiently curious enough that he knows if he doesn't find out, he won't concentrate on his paper anyway. He pushes the laptop away a few inches. "No," he says. "What is it?" 

"Um," Harry says again. "You know how – how those people came to visit that one day?" He pauses to wait for Liam's answer. Liam just shrugs. "When you stomped in the attic. The ghost hunters, or whatever you called them." 

"Yes," Liam says slowly, already growing weary of what might be coming. It isn't helped by the way Harry's glance darts around the room and never settles on Liam's face. 

"Well, right after we – right after the accident, when we first ended up here, we used to get other visitors,” Harry starts. He seems anxious, but he's talking as slow as ever, and it's making Liam tenser and tenser. 

"Right," he says, willing himself patient. 

"Like, our families would come out to the cliffs. To see, like, where it happened, I guess," Harry says. He looks at Liam like Liam should know where he's going with this, now, but Liam doesn't. 

"Okay," he says. “That makes sense, right? Like, I’m sure they wanted closure or something.”

Harry nods like he's satisfied with that response. "Right, yeah, I think you’re right. So anyway – Louis had a girlfriend. When it happened, he had a girlfriend, and she came out here. Came into the house.” He keeps looking at Liam like he expects Liam won’t keep up, even though nothing much has happened in this story. 

“Her name was – is – Eleanor. And she came in here, into the house, no one else did that, my family didn’t come in. I don’t know why El did, but she did. And we were here, Lou was here.” 

“That’s – all right,” Liam says, cutting himself off. 

Harry blinks rapidly like he’s frustrated Liam hasn’t caught on yet. “Remember I told you that story about my mum? How I think the people who love you, they can tell when you’re around?” 

Liam does start to catch on a little bit then. “Yes,” he says slowly. “Eleanor knew he was here?” 

Harry nods as though he’s relieved, and his words come quicker. “He tried to stay away, in the attic, because – because it was hard, you know. We weren’t used to this yet, we didn’t know what it would be like. He thought it would be hard for her, too. Scary, maybe.” 

“That was kind of him,” Liam says. He wonders if Louis is listening in. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

“Well, he loved her,” Harry says. “Loves her. I don’t know. But anyway, it didn’t matter, she could tell he was here. And she called for him and called for him, but he wouldn’t come out.” 

Liam nods. It’s terrible to think about, this girl who’s just lost her boyfriend feeling so sure he’s nearby, but not able to find him. 

“And so she – she left, but few months later she came back.”

Liam’s lost the thread again. “Okay,” he says. 

Harry looks at him, guarded, and then looks away. “She came back, and she had this – this potion.”

"Potion," Liam repeats.

"Yeah, you know, like, an _elixir_ -" 

"I know what potion is, Harry." 

Harry pulls a face, and Liam leans against the wall, settling in for the end of this story. Harry seems to recognize his frustrated patience and smiles a little, shaking his head; Liam can imagine him alive, his hair always falling in his face, Harry shaking it impatiently out of the way.

But it's dangerous to think that way. Liam pushes the thought aside, focuses on Harry's face here and now, the way he's using his hands to demonstrate. 

"So she had a potion. She just walked in and started yelling, for Louis to come out, that she had something for him, for them. I don’t know for sure where she got it, or how she made it – I don’t think Louis wanted to know.”

Harry pauses, and Liam looks at him with wide eyes. “Well?” Liam demands. “What happened? Did he come out? What did the potion do?” 

Harry’s face twitches with a laugh and he glances at Liam sideways. “He did come out, materialized, finally, and the potion – it was – what it would do –“ Harry is looking at Liam, seeming to get distracted, and Liam just watches him stumble over his words and waits. 

"What did it do?" he asks finally, when Harry lets his arms drop, seeming defeated somehow. 

Harry turns away from him, floats a few feet away. Liam doesn't understand what's happening, and then he turns, in a rush, whipping cold air in Liam's direction, and he says, "It was to turn him human again." 

It could be the draft that turns Liam's blood cold, but he doesn't think so. 

When his mind catches up to Harry's words, he shakes his head. "But Louis isn't – he's still –“ 

"It was only for a day," Harry interrupts quietly. "El was – she was so shaky and pale, that second time, and she said she could only get this little bit of potion, only enough to turn for a day. And anyway, Louis didn't take it." 

Liam blinks; there is something growing in his chest, something like hope, or dread; he absolutely has to tamp it down, because even if Harry is saying what Liam thinks he might be saying – even if – _one_ day – 

Liam swallows. "Why not?" 

Harry looks up toward the ceiling, thoughtfully; Louis must be upstairs. "He said it was already too hard remembering," Harry says. "He said – he said he couldn’t make her say goodbye again. He said one more day with her would never be enough.” 

Liam looks at Harry and doesn't say anything. 

"She was so beautiful, Liam," Harry says, his smile wistful. "You should have seen her." 

"Why are you telling me this?" Liam whispers. 

And Harry hesitates again. Liam is sure he knows what Harry is trying to say, but he isn't sure whether Harry will decide to say it; he isn't sure what he wants Harry to decide. The thought of it, after all these months of knowing, always reminding himself, never forgetting, that Harry is off limits - that he will never touch Harry, he will never get more from Harry than he's getting now - the thought that it might not be true – 

His hands shake with the enormity of it.

"He gave me the vial," Harry whispers, but he might as well be screaming. 

Liam focuses carefully on breathing in and out; counts four beats in, counts four beats out. Harry's gaze remains on him, heavy, eyes bright. 

"What happened to Eleanor?" Liam asks, unable to force his voice steady. 

The silence stretches as Harry waits for Liam to look at him, but Liam doesn't. He can't. 

"She left," Harry says finally. From the corner of his eye, Liam can see his sad smile. "I told you, no one stays." 

"Except me," Liam says blankly. 

"Except you," Harry agrees, drifting closer and then, apparently, thinking better of it. He pauses a few feet away. After a long pause, he says, "Liam?" And Liam hears the unspoken questions there, but he doesn't have any answers. 

"Harry," he says. "Harry, I have to finish my paper. Can we talk about this tonight?" He pulls his computer back into his lap, hunching over it. 

Harry doesn't respond, but the next time Liam looks up, he's gone.

 

"Harry," Liam whispers furiously into the dark. He realizes there's no reason to whisper, so he stops. "Harry!" he yells. 

Nothing happens, so Liam slides out of bed, shivering in the drafty night air, and throws open his bedroom door, stalking into the hallway. The problem is that Harry could be anywhere, and Liam can't force him to materialize, so this could be a really pointless exercise. 

"Harry!" he yells again, echoing down the hallways, and then Harry appears, standing right next to him, making Liam jump. 

"You know I hate it when you do that," Liam says grumpily, walking briskly back into his room. 

"You yell at me for not being here, you yell when I come," Harry mutters, shutting the bedroom door behind him. "Can't win with you." 

Liam frowns at him from bed. "Where were you anyway?" 

Harry avoids his gaze, moving across the room to the window. "Around," he says noncommittally. "With Lou and Ni." 

Liam stares at him but he never turns. "I thought we were going to discuss," he starts, and then doesn't know how to finish. "The thing. That you told me earlier. I thought we were going to discuss the thing." 

Harry does turn then, his eyebrow raised but looking at least a little amused. "The thing?" he echoes. "Why are we calling it that?" 

Liam pouts a little. "Maybe you're used to talking about things like this, but I'm not," he says. "Okay, the potion to turn you human! Happy?"

Harry's brow furrows, suddenly serious. "I don't know if happy is the word," he says. He looks at Liam and he looks – scared. Which is ironic. 

Liam sighs. "What are you going to do?" he asks. 

"What do you want me to do?" Harry asks in return instead of answering. 

Liam knows what he wants. He wants Harry to find a potion that will turn him human forever; he wants Harry to kiss him and come home with him, become best friends with Zayn and sleep in Liam’s bed and tell him terrible jokes every morning. 

"What I want doesn't matter," he says instead. 

"What you want is all that matters," Harry counters, soft and serious, gentle enough to break Liam. 

He doesn't break; he clenches his fists. All he wants is to call Harry over and touch him, push his hair back, lay quietly. He could have it for one night or he could have it never. 

"It's not up to me," Liam says, as sincerely and genuinely as possible, trying not to let it creep into his voice how badly he wants Harry to choose yes, to choose something over nothing. "Do you feel the same as Louis? It's okay if you do. It's your choice." 

Harry's face is unreadable, and he stares at Liam for a long, long time before he answers. "No," he says finally, firm, and Liam doesn't know what he's saying no to, but then – “No, I don't feel the same as Louis. I want to do it. If you – if you want it. If you'll be here when I do." 

Liam lets out a heavy breath, head falling back against the pillows. "Of course I'll be here, you dumb wanker," he says finally, letting the smile spread across his face. "Of course I – of course I want it." 

Harry smiles too then, a brilliant grin, and he comes closer, paused at the side of the bed. As quickly as it comes, his face goes serious again. 

"But I have conditions," he says. 

Liam tips his head, folds his hands together. "Conditions?" he asks. "Okay." 

Harry turns away, starts moving back and forth – he’d be pacing if he touched the floor. "I want to do it on your last day," he says. "And I want you to leave before I've changed back." 

Liam is taken aback. "What do you mean?" he asks slowly. "I mean, why, Harry, why wait, why would I leave when you're human –“

"Because," he interrupts, spinning to face Liam. His voice goes gentle again. "Because it's always best to end on a good note, right? I want you to remember me that way," he says. He’d nodding, already decided. "We'll remember each other like that." 

And Liam can't say anything else, it's Harry decision, and he'll be stuck with it longer than Liam, it seems. "Okay," Liam says. His fingers are already itching to reach out and touch Harry, and now he can tell himself, soon. 

 

Liam's sweeping up the back corner of the attic and arguing with Harry over whether cats or dogs make better companions, and resolutely not talking about what's going to happen the next day, when Liam looks over and Louis is next to Harry, staring at Liam. 

"Harold, do you think Liam and I could have a moment?" Louis asks, strangely serious and subdued. 

Harry looks at Liam and shrugs. "Sure," he says. Liam knows its for his own benefit that Harry floats out the door rather than disappearing. 

Liam turns back to his broom. "What's up, Lou?" he asks. 

Louis doesn't answer right away, and when Liam looks back he's still staring. Liam looks back, waiting. 

"Harry told you about Eleanor, didn't he?" Louis asks finally. 

Liam is surprised. He's never heard Louis talk about anything from before, never heard him talk about anything serious. He realizes Louis is waiting for his answer and nods. "He did tell me," Liam says. "Is that okay?" 

Louis looks away then, flapping a hand carelessly. "It's fine," he says. Liam wonders if that means Louis trusts him, but he doesn't dare ask. 

Louis doesn't say anything else and Liam leans his broom against the wall, turning to give Louis his full attention. "Do you think we're doing the wrong thing?" Liam asks. He's going to take it on instinct that Harry isn't listening in; Louis would probably know if he was, anyway. "You didn't want to use the potion." 

Liam wouldn't be surprised if Louis simply disappeared instead of continuing this conversation, but then again, Louis had started it. "No, I don't think it's the wrong thing necessarily," Louis says finally. When he looks up his brow is furrowed. "I think it was the wrong thing for me. But I already knew what I was missing." 

Liam has to sit down on the floor. "Should I not?" he asks helplessly. "Should I not find out what I'm missing?" 

Louis's already shaking his head. "That's not what I'm saying," he says. "I think, as a general rule, something is better than nothing." 

Liam swallows. That's what he thinks, too, but according to Louis he doesn't even know what he's missing and he already can't bear to think about driving away from this house alone in two days, knowing Harry is inside. 

"Eleanor lives in Manchester," Louis says while Liam is thinking, seemingly apropos of nothing. "She's a writer, in Manchester, and her last name is Calder." 

Louis's getting to his feet. Liam, still sitting on the floor, looks up at him blankly. 

"Okay?" Liam asks hesitantly. 

"Will you remember?" Louis asks. "Calder. Manchester." 

"Calder, Manchester," Liam parrots. Louis looks at him for a long time and then nods like he's satisfied. 

Louis pauses. He's using the doorway to leave, just like Harry had. A concession, Liam knows, that they've made for him, one of many. "Have a good time tomorrow, huh, Liam?" he says. He's smiling again; it looks more normal. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." 

Liam clambers to his feet. "So that rules out nothing," he says, and Louis's laughter echoes down the hallways. 

 

“You have to go to sleep.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Liam is joking, but there’s an edge to it; he is nervous. They’ve got a plan, he and Harry; they don’t know how the potion works exactly, but they figure if Harry takes it right at midnight they’ll get as much out of it as they can. Assuming it works at all. 

“What are you gonna do, wait until I’ve taken the stuff and then fall asleep on me?” Harry looks exasperated but he’s nervous too, Liam can tell. He never stills, floating from one place to another, not smiling as much as he usually does. Liam wants to hold him in place, but he can’t. That’s the point.

“No,” Liam pouts. He rubs his eyes. “Fine, I’ll try to sleep.”

“Fine,” Harry says, and for a minute he looks okay – he looks fond, eyes on Liam’s face. Then he goes tense again, spins around. 

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” Harry says as he follows Liam up the stairs. Liam stops climbing to look at him incredulously, because it’s a bit late for that. 

“What are you talking about,” Liam asks. Harry won’t look at him, but crowds close to him, urging him to start walking up the stairs again; Liam touches the cold skin at the back of his arm where Harry’d been close and goes. 

“We don’t know if it will work,” Harry says. He’s trying to sound practical. “No one ever tried it. It could be expired.” 

Liam knows this, but in his heart – in his heart he thinks it’s going to work. As he’d cleaned the attic a few days before, Niall had told him in hushed whispers of other stories of potions like this. Of course theirs isn’t the first story of its kind. 

“I know,” Liam says, trying to sound calming, to appease Harry. “If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. All we can do is try.” 

Harry nods as they reach the door to Liam’s room, but Liam knows if it doesn’t work it will be crushing, more than a little bit, for both of them. 

As he climbs into bed, he mutters, “You’ll wake me when it’s time, yeah?” 

“Yes,” Harry says. He’s floating on the opposite side of the bed to Liam where he’s done the same for months. Liam closes his eyes and tries to steady out his breathing, but he keeps thinking about what’s coming, what it might be like. How he’ll get through the next day and beyond. 

“I can feel you being anxious,” Harry stage whispers, and Liam opens one eye to glare at him. 

“Stop feeling me, creep,” he mumbles into his pillow. “I’m trying to sleep here.” 

Harry’s laughter chases him into dreams.

 

Liam wakes up to a hand on his back. 

Layers of sleep lift slowly and it takes a moment to recognize the weight of someone rubbing his back, the warmth of another person’s hand. He hasn’t felt it in so long. When he does realize he jerks quickly into consciousness, his mind racing – and Harry’s there above him, smiling. Real. 

“Good morning,” he says. His smile is so wide and his hand keeps rubbing circles against Liam’s back. Liam is sure he can feel the way Liam’s heart leaps and thuds in his chest. 

“You didn’t wake me,” he says, voice scratchy, because it’s all he can think to say. “What time is it?” 

Harry laughs and Liam can see him, all the parts of him, his teeth gleaming solid and white and his eyes so much brighter green. “It’s about 12:02, I’d reckon. You didn’t miss much.” 

Liam can blame the fog of sleep still lifting from his brain for the way it’s so easy to reach out and wrap a hand around Harry’s arm and finally, finally Liam knows what his skin feels like. He’s so _warm_. 

“It worked,” Liam whispers. The sheets tangled around his waist try to trap him in bed but he sits up, and Harry settles next to him over the blankets, too far away but still a heavy weight near Liam’s legs that he’s so not used to. 

“Seems that way,” he says. 

Liam knows he needs to stop staring but he can’t. Harry looks the same but it’s completely different; he’s so much more, and Liam doesn’t know what to do with it. 

“Hey, Liam,” Harry says. He shifts and Liam can feel it, the weight of him rustling the bed and the covers. 

“Yeah?” Liam asks. He wonders if the dazed feeling will go away. 

“Where do ghosts buy food?” 

Is he hungry? Liam wonders. Does he have to eat now? It takes him a few second to catch on, and the smile pulling at the edge of Harry’s lips helps. 

Liam laughs and flops back into bed, rubbing his hands over his face. Everything is surreal; he might be trapped in a dream. “Ummm,” he says, trying to concentrate on Harry’s joke. “The ghostery store?”

Harry doesn’t say anything and when Liam pulls his hands away from his eyes Harry looks pleasantly surprised. “I was thinking ‘the spooker market’,” he says, “But I’m impressed you thought of that.”

Liam grins dopily. “Well,” he says. “I learned from the best.” 

 

"I have to brush my teeth," Liam says suddenly, sitting up in bed. Old Harry, Ghost Harry, he thinks, would have laughed at him, but this Harry just nods seriously and moves out of the way so Liam can climb out of bed. 

He wants to touch Harry as he passes, but he doesn't. It was easier in a haze of sleep; now he’s awake, now he has nothing to hide behind.

In the bathroom he stares into the mirror over the sink, watching himself. He has less than 24 hours with Harry left now but he's here, alone. Is he running away? Just for a moment, just to make sure everything is perfect. At least that’s what he tells himself. 

He spits and runs the sink for longer than he needs to, and then he walks back to the bedroom. 

Harry's on the bed, seated again at the edge, looking down at the comforter and picking at a loose thread. Liam takes a moment to look at him, really look at him in the light; he still looks the same but the solid weight of him changes everything, really. Liam can see the lines of his muscles, the curve of his bones, the way his forehead creases in thought, eyelashes stark against his cheeks. He’s nearly curled in on himself, his posture terrible and making him look young and little bit lost. Liam’s chest aches with fondness for this person he knows and doesn’t know all at the same time.

Harry tosses his hair just like Liam always thought he would, and catches Liam lounging in the doorway. He shoots Liam a smile but he looks nervous. 

"You look so," Liam says, and doesn't know how to finish. 

Harry stares at him for a moment, still, and then lets his grin stretch wide. He strikes a pose on the bed, leg up, leaned on his elbow. "Dashing?" he guesses. "Devastatingly handsome?" 

"You look so real," Liam finishes softly. 

Harry's still laughing a little, but he pulls himself up into a regular seated position, and then up to his feet. There's even more for Liam to notice when he's standing, the lankiness of his body, the awkward way he holds his feet. It's almost unbearable, knowing he's been missing out on these tiny idiosyncrasies for so long, that he only has this little while the memorize them.

"Give us a hug then, hm?" Harry says, voice light. He holds up his arms a little. "Man comes back to life, you'd think he'd get that at least –“

Liam cuts off his ranting by striding forward and slotting against him, not bothering to restrain himself at all; it's been too long, and there's too little time left to waste any of it. 

Harry's arms close around his shoulders and he's holding on almost as tight as Liam is, arms wrapped around Harry's waist. Liam takes a deep breath and then shifts, slots them even closer, knees between knees, faces in necks. 

"Does it hurt?" Liam whispers, somewhere behind his ear, at the edges of his hair, curling into Liam's face for the first time. "Did it hurt, taking the potion?"

"No." Harry's reply is muffled in the fabric of Liam's shirt, thin enough that Liam has goosebumps, but he also has Harry, warm and alive Harry pressed right up against him, so it doesn't matter. "No, nothing hurt." 

"Good," Liam says. He digs his fingertips into Harry's ribs, feels the bones there, solid and sturdy. Then he steps back, and he has to pull away from Harry's grip to do so, his own fingers sliding unwillingly away from Harry's back. 

"So," Liam says, once there's space between them. "Nice to finally meet you." 

Harry laughs like he doesn't want to, rolling his eyes. His hands are still on Liam's shoulders, refusing to let go. He opens his mouth to respond but Liam doesn't let him. He surges forward and then he's kissing Harry, he's kissing Harry, the real, breathing boy in his room, Harry with a mouth that's warm and wet, teeth sharp when they nip at Liam's own, hands hot and sliding beneath Liam's shirt almost immediately. 

Liam kisses him, kisses his lips and licks into his mouth, drags his teeth against a sharp jaw and tugs on an earlobe. His hands slide over a shirt and then under, over slim hips and a flat stomach, up to a broad chest and it's all real and Liam has it, it's more than he could have imagined, he feels dizzy with it, a rush of blood to the head with so much to touch and to see and so little time to do it in. 

 

They end up on the bed. Harry twists so Liam is over him, and Harry holds him in place with a tight grip on the sleeves of his shirt when he kisses Liam hungrily, moving so he can grind his hips up. Liam nips at his lip in retaliation and tries to back off but Harry won't let him go. 

He moves his hands to the hem of Liam's shirt eventually. "Get this off," he says, breathless. "Been teasing me for months, finally get to touch –" Liam uses the chance to sit up on his knees, putting a little space between them so he can catch his breath, but Harry never stops touching him, fingers sliding under his shirt, up toward his shoulders. 

"Off," he says, and then again, "off," until Liam's places his hands over Harry's to still him. 

"Give me a second," he says, laughing. "There's no rush," he says, and something goes soft in Harry's eyes even as Liam realizes there is, there is a rush. 

He kisses Harry slow, still holding his hands in place. 

"Liam," Harry gasps eventually, his hips squirming where they're pinned down by Liam's own. "Li, this is great and all, but do you know how long it's been since I've gotten off?" he chokes out, once Liam's moved on to mouth at his neck. 

Liam laughs out loud at that, burying his face in Harry's shoulder. "Been awhile for me too," he reminds Harry, sitting back up to his knees and pulling his shirt off in one swift motion. Harry sighs happily, momentarily satiated, and moves his hands down Liam's torso and then back up to his shoulders. "Not a prime wanking situation when any number of supernatural creatures could be watching you at any moment." 

Harry laughs and then shifts up to try and get his own shirt off. When he gets trapped in it, Liam helps. "We're not perverts, Liam," Harry says when it’s discarded, trying to sound prim. When Liam raises an eyebrow, he shrugs. "Well, not all of us." 

Liam laughs and Harry pinches his nipple. "You should be nicer if you want something from me," Liam says, shifting his hips so they're not in contact with Harry's anymore. 

Harry lifts his body in attempt to follow, but Liam's legs are in the way. "Liam," he says, voice verging on desperate, all signs of laughter gone. "Liam, please." 

Liam takes pity on him; it’s not that hard when Liam's wanted this himself for – for longer than he wants to admit. He lowers his hips back to Harry's and his mouth back to Harry's and then they're tangled, one of Harry's long legs around his waist, the other tucked between his knees, Harry shifting incessantly. 

"Get out of your jeans, at least," Liam says when he manages to get his mouth free for a moment. "At least make it quality." 

Harry's too far gone to even tease back. Immediately his hands are at the button to his jeans and when they're popped, Liam moves back enough so that he can shimmy out of them and his pants, and enough so that he's out of the way of Harry's feet kicking furiously to get them off. 

He kisses Harry and takes him in his hand at the same time, swallowing the low groan as Harry's hips buck up into him. He moves his hand slowly, getting a grip on Harry’s dick. He’s not planning to tease too terribly; Harry doesn't deserve it. 

"Can't make fun of me when I don't last," Harry gasps, tearing away from Liam and fisting his hands in the sheets. He's going red in the cheeks and it's fucking gorgeous, his eyebrows drawn down in concentration, his biceps flexed. 

Liam picks up the pace, sliding his thumb over the head of Harry's cock, already leaking. Harry thrusts up in to his fist as well, helping him along. Liam kisses his collarbones and his chest, drags his free hand down Harry's side. "Won't do," he murmurs. "You're so hot, Harry, you feel so good." 

Harry's eyes squeeze shut and the sheets pop free of the mattress with the pull of his grip, his hips arching high off the mattress as he comes. He hisses out a breath but is otherwise silent, and Liam works him through it, kissing his shoulder and slowing his hand until Harry stills. 

Harry doesn't speak for a long time, and from up close Liam can see the way his chest is shaking. Liam wipes his hand off on a discarded pair of pants and waits, touching his skin all over. 

"Jesus," Harry says finally, his voice gone ragged. "I forgot how good that was." He finally opens his eyes, turning to look at Liam, still rested at his shoulder. 

"You're welcome," Liam says helpfully, smiling into Harry's skin. Now that Harry's recovered Liam thinks it's okay to turn to other matters and wraps a fist around his own cock, moving at half pace, lazy. Harry picks up on it immediately though, turns on his side, and knocks Liam's hand out of the way. 

"Your turn, then," he says, long fingers stretched over Liam's dick, and Liam means to tell him he doesn't have to, there's plenty of time for that later, but Harry's already moving down, mouthing over the head, and it slips Liam's mind. 

He wasn't kidding about not getting off often in the house, always thinking about who could be watching. Sometimes it got too be too much, to the point where he didn't care if someone was in the room, and he'd take care of himself quickly in the shower; but even that wasn't often. 

"Not going to last much longer than you," Liam mutters, and Harry looks up with a faux offended look on his face, letting Liam slide out of his mouth. 

"Hey," Harry says. "It's rude to bring that up." 

Liam doesn't want to fight with him, he just wants Harry's mouth back on his dick. "Sorry," he says, and fists a hand in Harry's hair, pulling lightly . Harry's eyes roll back in his head a little, and then he dips down again, taking Liam in his mouth. 

Liam can't tear his eyes away. Harry's lips are shiny and red around his dick, his cheeks stretched hollow. He keeps glancing up, his green eyes shiny and finding Liam, looking back at him. Liam wonders if he can believe this is real any more than Liam can. Liam's hand is warm in his hair. 

Harry licks a stripe up the underside of his dick, giving his jaw a break and Liam stares and stares. Harry looks back as he takes Liam down his throat again, face set seriously, stroking up Liam's thighs with his free hands. 

"Harry," Liam chokes out. He tries not to thrust up, but he does, a little, and then Harry's hands are at his hips, pinning him down while Harry takes him as deep as he can into his mouth and that's all Liam can take. Harry looks up at him one last time with those serious eyes and Liam tips over the edge.

 

When he comes back to earth, Harry is leaned over the side of the bed, drinking out of Liam's glass of water. "Hi," he says when he sees Liam looking.

Liam shoots him a lazy smile. "Hi," he says back, and reaches out to touch him again.

 

"What do you want to do?" Liam whispers. The curtains are pulled but Liam knows from his watch the sun will be coming up soon, the day beginning, even though Liam's day began hours ago. He can feel the minutes ticking away like a bomb counting down and tries to temper the panic that keep flaring in his chest. 

Harry's eyes roam the ceiling above. "I don't want to do anything," he says finally. "I want to eat breakfast with you and lay in this bed with you and hold your hand and enjoy this day."

Liam sits up then, running his hands through his hair to push it into place. He moves so his leg is still against Harry's side, and Harry drapes his arm across it, keeping contact, warm and steady. "You only have one day," Liam says slowly, incredulous. "We should go somewhere - I'll take you out for food, we can go do things - do you want to, I don't know. Do you want to go dancing? Do you like rollercoasters?"

Harry laughs, but kindly. He sits up too, presses their knees together. "Liam," he says, drops a kiss against his cheeks, lingers with their faces pressed together. "Liam, we can't fit a whole life into one day any more than you can fit your whole life into this empty house." 

Liam rolls his head against Harry's and then pulls back enough to see his face, reaching up to slot his fingertips over Harry's collarbones, feel his shoulders rising and falling. "'s not empty though, is it," he says, mumbling. 

Harry blinks at him. His fingers trace over Liam's knee cap, pressing in. "It is, though," he says finally. He kisses Liam but pulls back before Liam can draw him in. 

Liam stares at him and the panic is back, overflowing. "I don't think I can do it," he says. The fingers at Harry's collarbone move to grip his shoulder, tight enough to be sure he is real. The tips go white but Harry doesn't flinch. "I can't drive away from this house and live a few hours away and know you're here, I can't do it. I can't," he says, "I can't." 

He almost wants Harry to laugh at him, add it to the list of things he teases Liam about: remember when you fainted? remember when you screamed at the spider? remember when you freaked out and said you couldn't leave? 

But Harry doesn't laugh. He smoothes his fingers over Liam's hair, still not reacting to Liam's hands on his shoulders, grasping hard enough to bruise - but Harry won't have bruises tomorrow, Liam remembers. 

"Well," Harry says. "I was thinking maybe I wouldn't stay. So you don't have to think about that, about me being in this house." 

The words are surprising enough to jerk Liam out of the spiral he's falling into, and his grip relaxes, hands falling to Harry's elbows. "You're leaving?" he asks. "Where would you go?" 

Harry shrugs. He gets an arm around Liam's shoulders and leans back, so they're lying down. Liam tucks his face under Harry's chin and he's so warm, smells like soap. Liam closes his eyes and breathes. 

"Don't know," Harry says, chest rumbling under Liam's cheek. "World's my oyster, innit?" 

"Would Louis and Niall go with you?" he asks, mind racing with possibilities. It's better, he decides; easier to think of Harry out there in the world, not here in this empty looming house. 

"'Course," Harry says easily. "Think of all the mischief they could cause, out in that wide world. Maybe you can show us that list of haunted places again, we'll team up with another one and cause a great stir." 

Liam laughs, the tension in his chest easing, and the silence that falls is easy. 

"Come on," he says finally, stretching his body out and clambering off the bed, over Harry's prone body. He reaches out a hand and Harry takes it without questions. "We don't have to do all that stuff I said earlier, but we can watch the sun rise at the cliffs, yeah?" he asks. When Harry gets to his feet he tucks in close, hugging Liam against him again. 

"Yeah," he says into Liam's neck, "we can do that," and so they do. 

 

It's cold outside. Liam's barely spent any time at the cliffs, even as long as he's lived here; it's always been straight to his car and into town, straight into the house when he's back. He's certainly never watched the sunrise here, and he almost regrets it, because the sky is streaked stunning gold, pinking at the horizon. But it's also nice, that he experiences it for the first time with Harry sat warm at his side. 

"It's lovely, yeah?" Liam whispers like he might disturb something. He remembers, Zayn used to have a poster in college, a picture of some woods or something with "Do I dare disturb the universe?" scrawled across it. It seems like so long ago and so far away. 

"Yeah," Harry says, letting his voice carry. He scoots closer to Liam, and they're far away from the edge but Liam worries, suddenly -

"Does it make you nervous to be out here?" he asks. He brings an arm up around Harry's waist and it's terrifying how easy it is to get used to touching him, get used to him being there and real. "We don't have to." 

"No." Harry's response is immediate and final. He leans into Liam's side but doesn't look over. "I like it," he says. "Let's stay." 

Liam relaxes and looks up into the wide sky. 

 

Later, Liam will almost wish he didn't know how beautiful Harry looks in the sun, but he does. They make their way down a scraggly path and onto a beach that isn't much more than piles of rocks, and the water is freezing but Liam kicks it up against Harry anyway, savoring the wide stretch of his mouth as he laughs, the way he squints his eyes against it. He trips over what seems like every other rock and frowns comically. "I forgot what it's like to have to walk on the ground," he says, "Isn't as easy as it looks, is it?" 

Liam laughs until his stomach hurts. 

 

When they get too cold, Liam makes breakfast while Harry pulls warm clothes from Liam's closet, bringing down sweaters and the blankets from his bed, bundling up at the kitchen table. He gets his hands on Liam's computer for the first time and immediately takes up DJ duties, picking a song and sidling up to sing into a spoon while he bumps his shoulders against Liam's before he remembers something else he wants to listen to and moves away, back to the table. Liam isn't a master chef by any means but he makes everything he has on hand that he can fashion a dish out of, bacon and an egg scramble and coffee and fruit. 

Harry just smiles at him from across the table. "Smells great," he says. 

After, when Liam kisses him, his lips are cold and he tastes like orange juice.

 

It frightens Liam how fast the day passes. How long did we spend on the beach? he finds himself wondering. When the breakfast plates are in the sink, he looks out the window to see the sun high in the sky and thinks, no. We just ate breakfast, it's still early. The moments wasted burning the bacon and starting over, dancing around the kitchen with Harry, slowly eating food off each other's plates and then off of each other – none of that should have counted, surely. They deserve more time. 

They end up in the front hall in a mess of blankets and pillows and sweaters they've dragged down from Liam's room, sprawled across the floor, the laptop open but off to the side, safe from flailing limbs. The silence between them is easy, perhaps because they've spent all these months doing nothing but talking. Liam doesn't want to talk anymore. 

He shifts so his hands are on Harry's neck. With his eyes he tries to determine the length of it, the exact tone of his flesh; his hands move Harry's shoulders, measuring in finger lengths their breadth, sweeping fingertips along the bones and muscles there, assessing the feel. Maybe if he works hard enough, if he's careful about it, then he'll remember forever, and he'll feel the loss less. Or maybe he'll remember the fine details and wish for them for the rest of his life. 

He drags his hands down Harry's arms, following with his eyes; they're dotted with tattoos that Liam examines, first by sight and then by dragging his lips over them, tasting the skin. Harry stays silent and still and when Liam looks up at him, lips against his inner elbows, he's watching with calm eyes, and he only blinks lazily. 

Liam lifts Harry's hand, kisses a fingertip and a palm, sucks a fingertip into his mouth and traces over his wrists and knuckles, committing it all to memory as best he can. Harry starts to shift beneath him, rocking his hips once, but he doesn't say anything. 

Then it's down over Harry's chest, rising and falling more and more quickly as Liam traces over his nipples with fingers and tongue, down the planes of his muscles and dips of his ribs to his belly button and lower, and it's only then that Harry stops him with a hand on his head, tugging his hair lightly. 

Liam rubs his cheek against Harry's flat stomach, closing his eyes as Harry's hands run through his hair easily. "Hey," Harry says, but Liam doesn't look up. 

"Talk to me," Harry says, but Liam doesn't want to talk. He doesn't want to talk about his terrible memory, how he'll never be able to hold all the pieces of Harry together in his head, how out of control and furious it makes him to think about the way Harry will disappear, not at all once but over time, until Liam isn't sure if he was ever real. 

Liam does not want to talk. 

He picks himself up over Harry, straddles his hips and kisses him, kisses away his questions. Harry has been running around in pants all morning, wrapping himself in blankets when it gets too cold, the rest of his clothes still discarded somewhere upstairs, but Liam rids of him of the clothes he's left in quickly, shirks his own sweats and pants and presses against him with nothing between them. 

Their skin is heated now, even in the cool of the house, and Liam pushes away the sheets. They shift so Harry's legs are around his waist, and Liam runs a hand over his knobby knees and his skinny ankles before he reaches for the packet of lube he's stashed away in his sweatpants pocket. 

His face is serious as he rips it open, he knows. He can't quite escape the dread that's settling further over him every time he glances out the window and sees the sun sinking lower in the sky, and they don't even know how this potion works; they're hoping they get until midnight but Harry could disappear at sundown for all they know, and Liam will never have him again. 

So it's all too heavy to smile, and when Harry looks up at him he looks concerned and Liam can't do anything. Harry opens his mouth and Liam doesn't meet his eyes, and then Harry says, "Were you just carrying lube around with you all day?" 

Liam was expecting admonishment for his dour mood, or maybe "Why so sad," but not that. The surprise of it distracts him from his moroseness. He looks up to see a smile in Harry's eyes and he can't resist it himself; he bursts into laughter, collapsing over Harry, face in his neck and shoulders shaking. It isn't that funny at all, but it's easier to laugh with Harry, and it's better, so Liam leans into it. 

"I was," he confesses, kissing Harry's neck before he straightens and focuses on the packet again. "Was really hoping I'd get lucky today." 

"Terrible," Harry says from underneath him. "I should really say no just to teach you a lesson." 

Liam wraps a hand around his cock, already hard against his stomach, to discourage that sort of behavior. 

"You're tricking me," Harry says with a short gasp, but he lifts his hips so Liam can get a hand between them, so Liam doesn't think he minds. He laughs distractedly. 

That's the important part, Liam decides. When Harry's ready, his hips twisting needily below Liam, whining to get on with it; when Liam finally pushes in and feels Harry around him – the important part is that they're laughing. That's what Liam wants to remember; Harry's teeth against his mouth, laughing while Liam kisses him. Harry teasing him that he hopes they'll last longer than earlier, even as he gets a hand around himself and groans loudly. They're smiling and Liam knows he will remember this part, even if time takes everything else. 

He rolls his hips into Harry's, eyes settling fondly on his face. "You're so hot," Harry says, and Liam has to knock Harry's hand out of the way so Liam can jerk him off instead, moving his hand in synch with his hips. Harry's hands scramble to hold on elsewhere, finding a discarded sheet on one side and Liam's forearm on the other. 

"Fuck," he says, cheeks going red like earlier. "You're so hot. Wanted this for so long."

"Yeah," Liam says, pushing his face into Harry's neck, thrusting shallowly before pulling back and slamming in hard once, twice. "Fuck, I wanted this too." 

"Come," Harry says, the muscles in his jaw and neck tightening as Liam tightens his grips, thumbs over the head of his dick. "You first this time, come on." 

"Not yet," Liam says. He doesn't know if he wants to slow down, prolong this moment and let others slip away, or speed it up, make sure they have time later for other things. He ends up wobbling between the two, quick bursts of speed followed by slow rolls of his hips, eyes on Harry's face, watching every different permutation of the way he bites his lips or widens his eyes, cataloging every word that falls from his lips. 

"Liam," he says finally, voice wrecked. He reaches for Liam's wrist, stilling his hand. "Can't hold off. You first, yeah?" 

Harry's asking him for something, Liam thinks, and he isn't going to leave with a memory of saying no to him. "Okay," he says, and Harry's grips skates down his arm, leaving angry red nail marks behind. 

"Sorry," he gasps out, smoothing his palm over them. "Sorry, sorry." 

"No," Liam grunts, hips working restlessly, "I liked it. Do it again." 

Harry stills momentarily and Liam matches him, which seems to spur him into action. He gets a hand on Liam's back, scratches across it, and Liam can feel the marks there, marks that won't be gone tomorrow. 

"Liam," Harry says, and he pulls Liam down, sinks his teeth into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and Liam tips over the edge, hips jerking relentlessly. Harry follows immediately, a cry muffled into Liam's skin, and Liam falls over him, heart racing. 

"You're crushing me," Harry's voice comes muffled after a few moments. "You're so heavy, I'm dying."

Then Liam is laughing again, laughing and laughing until he can barely tells what hurts.

 

They shower and Harry sets the laptop at the edge of the toilet, so they can hear it over the water, and it hits Liam that this is what he will remember, when he thinks of his life at Whipstaff: music and laughter. He had expected months of darkness and work and missing his home and his old life, and instead he got this, months of music and laughter and Harry, and it feels selfish to want anything more. 

"Let's go for a drive," Liam says, and in Liam's truck Harry rolls the windows down and puts his head out the window, the wind whipping his hair back. 

"Helloooooo," he yells, throwing a hand out into the air as Liam blasts down the road, the sky turning purple as the sun sinks down. 

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, and Liam has force himself to keep his eyes on the road and not on him, beautiful and alive and here with him by choice. 

"Peniiiiiisss," Harry yells out the window, into the wind carrying over them, and Liam can't help but laugh, shaking his head. 

"That's what you yell into the great beyond?" he asks, when Harry pulls his head back inside for a moment. "Penis?" 

"Tell me something better," Harry challenges. Their hands are tangled between them and Liam squeezes; Harry squeezes back. 

"Anything," Liam says. "Literally anything is better." 

Harry glances at him, smirking, his hair a tangled mess from the wind. He leans back out. "Baaaaaaalls," he yells, and doesn't let Liam pull his hand away. 

 

Liam has lived frugally all these months for good reason, but he takes Harry to the little grocery store in town and buys anything Harry looks at with even the vaguest interest; steaks and potatoes and strawberries and bananas and a whole chocolate cake with Happy Birthday written in white frosting across the top. When they're back at the mansion Harry cooks, citing Liam's less than stellar effort earlier in the morning, kissing away Liam's apology. 

"It was made with love, hm?" Harry says, bustling over to the counter. "That's all that matters." 

Liam watches him from the kitchen table, the sky already dark outside their windows, and fights off the gloom threatening over his shoulders. 

The food is delicious to Liam and even more so to Harry, who moans over every bite. 

"Let's not lie," Harry says. "I am really good at this. I could do this professionally." 

"Think you should," Liam says. "Start a company. Could cook for Halloween parties and such. I'm sure you could come up with a good pun about ghosts and cooking for your corporate name." 

"I can always come up with a good pun," Harry says. He sets his plate down, eyes focused on Liam, and Liam thinks he's thinking about puns, but then he says, "Imagine it, hm? You a music school teacher and me a cook. A three bedroom house, nothing like this monstrosity, and maybe a cat." 

"A dog," Liam says distractedly. Harry's rarely let it show that he's thinking about it, that this is going to end soon, that Liam will go back to his regular life and Harry will still be here, in this house, but empty of all human life. Liam's not so insecure as to wonder if Harry wants him gone, but still – it's nice to hear him say something out loud, concrete, that he wishes it were different. Liam certainly does. 

"Okay." Harry's nodding seriously, face drawn. "Okay, we can have a dog." 

And now it's Liam's turn to be the strong one, lift him out of his gloom.

"And I'd have to make dinner every night," Liam says, bumping his elbow against Harry's as he takes another bite of steak. "Because you'd be too tired from cooking all night, you wouldn't want to come home and do it again."

It takes a moment, but Harry's lips lift in a smile, and he lifts a forkful of potato to his mouth. "Yeah, I guess I'll have to put up with it," he says. "And you'll be in bed when I get home at night after the restaurant closes, because you have to get up early for school, but I'll leave you a note on the mirror about how good dinner was, and that I hope you have a good day, and that I love you." 

Liam smiles at him over their food, with their knees pressed together under the kitchen table and its almost like it's real, like it's something they could have. "It sounds like a plan," he says easily. 

Harry smiles, lopsided, and suddenly Liam doesn't worry about forgetting the particular crook of it. "It's a plan," he says, and they eat, Liam's watching ticking away the seconds between them.

 

Harry insists on doing the dishes when they've eaten all they can manage, even though Liam protests that it's a waste of time, that he can do it in the morning, after – after. 

"No," Harry says, already standing over the sink. "It's a normal day, Liam. We're doing our normal day things, and that means washing dishes."

Liam doesn't get it but he isn't going to argue, and he stands next to Harry at the sink, dish towel in hand. "I wouldn't exactly call this a normal day," he says lightly. "All we did all day was eat and have sex." 

Harry waits for him to look over and waggles his eyebrows, handing him a plate to dry. "Exactly," he says. "Sounds completely normal to me."

Liam splashes him with a handful of soapy water and then they're laughing again, Harry trying to turn the faucet on him, dirty dishes forgotten on the counter.

 

"You need to rest," Harry says, gentle. After dinner and the dish washing fight, after they'd put Liam's plates and his utensils away in a bag by the front door; after they'd fucked again on the living room floor, Harry over Liam this time, mumbling his name softly as he came, hands pressed into his chest over Liam’s heart; after they'd dragged all the blankets and sheets back upstairs and changed into dry clothes, after Harry had insisted on helping Liam fold his clothes and pack his things away; after all of that, it's already past ten o'clock and pitch black outside. Liam's been awake for 22 hours, buzzing with nervous energy and fluctuating emotions and constant attention on Harry, Harry, Harry. His eyes are burning and his head feels fuzzy, but what he needs is definitely not sleep, not now. 

"No," he mumbles. He's making Harry sit on the hard floor with him, so he won't fall asleep. "We only have two more hours."

Harry's hand strokes his arm and it's soothing; too soothing. Liam jerks himself up. Harry's face is closed off. "If you're going to drive home tomorrow – and you _are_ ," he says, shooting Liam a pointed glance, "You have to be well rested." 

"I can stay one more night," Liam says. He doesn't look at Harry when he does, because he knows what he'll see there. "One more night won't hurt." 

"Absolutely not," Harry says, his voice gone tight with frustration. "Liam, you promised. You promised me." 

And Liam wants to cry, because he did promise, but he didn't know. He didn't know what it would actually be like; he’d given himself too much credit. 

Harry’s expression hardens. “You can stay as long as you want,” he says, “But you won’t see me. We agreed to say goodbye before midnight and I intend to keep my promise.” 

"All right," Liam says softly, giving in. He doesn't want to spend this time sleeping, but he definitely doesn't want to spend it fighting with Harry. "I'll leave tomorrow, I swear it." 

Harry's searching his face, but Liam is too tired to force a sincere look. He does mean it though; he won't break his promise to Harry. Harry must believe him; he pushes Liam's hair back again and says, "Okay." 

"But I'm staying up the last two hours," Liam repeats. "And then after – after – in the morning I'll sleep in and leave as soon as I wake up." 

Harry sighs. Liam might be offended that Harry is trying to be rid of him but he's gripping Liam's wrist like he'll never let go, thumb sweeping along the thin skin of his inner arm incessantly, leaned in so they're pressed shoulder to knee, and Liam knows it isn't any easier for him. 

"Just a quick nap, hm?" Harry says finally. "You're practically dead on your feet –“ he pauses to shoot Liam a smile, and Liam flashes one back tiredly. "Quality of time is more important than quantity, yeah?" 

Liam is exhausted and it's dark and the minutes are slipping through his fingers like water. In the dim room he can make out Harry's face; his smooth tan skin and his bright eyes looking back at Liam; his hands warm on Liam's body and the seconds disappear and Harry is right here but he's getting further and further away.

Liam's throat gets thick; he has to hitch a breath and press his palms into his eyes. 

"Liam," Harry says sadly, rubbing his back gently. "Just a nap and you'll feel better. I'll wake you before I go." 

And Liam, he can't think about the words ‘before I go,’ can’t ruin the end of this by having a sleep deprivation driven melt-down, so he finds himself nodding, finds himself taking Harry's hands when he stands to help Liam off the hard floor. "Just for a little," he mutters, tucking himself into Harry's side as Harry guides him to the bed, pulls back the covers. "You'll wake me in just a few minutes, right?" 

"Yes," Harry agrees, and he gets Liam into bed and then climbs in behind him, letting Liam tuck into his warm side and settling the blankets over him. Liam lets his hands settle at Harry's waist, mouth against his shoulder, trying to breath him in, trying to meld into one. 

"I wish I could stay," he mutters, somewhere near Harry's neck. Sleep is already taking him, against his will, another force working against him. 

"And I wish I could keep you," Harry says. Liam feels a kiss against his forehead, Harry's hands still rubbing his back, and then he doesn't feel anything else. 

 

He wakes up to sun creeping around the edges of the curtains, alone for the first time in months. Harry is gone. 

 

The first thing Liam does - before he dresses, before he brushes his teeth - is march from room to room, fueled by a haze of anger, as if he might find the right room and walk in to find Harry there waiting for him, looking guilty, maybe laughing at him.

He doesn't find that, of course. He doesn't find anything at all; the house is empty and absolutely silent. 

It's the silence that's hardest to deal with, a pressing reminder of times the house wasn’t so quiet. "You promised," he says out loud to break it, into the empty front hall. "You said you would wake me." He wants to yell but his voice won't steady for it, throat too tight to force anything louder out. He feels ill and unsteady, on the verge of throwing up or maybe fainting. But Harry does not appear. 

 

Liam packs his car slowly. He tells himself he's not doing it on purpose but he's doing it on purpose, waiting Harry out. Harry isn't patient, he's not good at depriving himself of things he wants. And Liam knows he wants to appear. 

So Liam carries his boxes out, one by one, even the small ones. He dusts off counter tops that are already clean; he unhooks cables that don't need to be unhooked. The sun climbs higher in the sky and Liam's car grows fuller, the house emptier, and no one is there except Liam. 

When the last box is packed and the last garbage bag thrown behind the house for hauling, Liam can't wait any more. He goes from room to room again, and it's absolutely pathetic, the way he calls for Harry and only hears echoes in return. The way he stands in the front hall and looks into the dark house and it feels like being gutted, the empty stretch of it; he has to bend over, hands on his knees, gasping around the tears in his throat.

He does not try to, could not, hold back the gasping sob as he locks the front door behind him for the last time. At the door to his truck he turns and looks back at the house; what was once imposing now looks normal to him, familiar. Unimpressive. 

In the attic window he thinks he sees a flash of something, a glow, and the curtain flutters. Liam waits, but no one appears, and there is no more movement from the house.

Liam does the only thing he can do. He gets in his car and drives away.

 

It's strange, how it feels to drive away from Whipstaff for the last time. After thirty minutes his tears stop, his breaths turning from hiccups to shaky gasps and finally evening out. After an hour his head begins to clear. It's as if he's waking from a dream, slowly but surely coming to realize what is real and what isn’t. Whipstaff is engulfed in fog in his mind, drifting slowly further away. Was it ever real at all? 

Liam bypasses his parents' house and goes straight back to his apartment, to Zayn. He knocks on the door and it feels odd, but walking straight in would feel odd too. He hasn't lived here for months. 

Zayn opens the door and his face is surprised and pleased and Liam barely registers it before he's flung himself at Zayn, arms around him, gasping into his neck. 

"Liam," Zayn says, sounding worried. His hands stroke at Liam's back comfortingly and it's so strange, the way kindness can break a person who’s already cracked. Liam feels like his legs might go out from under him, but Zayn has got him, and he leads Liam to the couch, gets a blanket around his shoulders and looks at him in awe. 

"Liam, what's wrong?" he asks, rubbing his hands over Liam's shoulders. "Are you okay? Is it your family?" 

Liam has to stop gasping; he's verging on hyperventilating. He rests his head in his hands and concentrates on deep breaths; just breathing, and Zayn's hands. "Everyone's fine," he says when he can talk again. "No one's hurt; I'm fine." 

"Okay." Zayn's fingers find the back of his neck and stroke soothingly. 

"I finished the house," Liam says, finally looking up at Zayn. It takes all his effort to force a smile. "I'm done. I'll never go back there." 

Liam's calmed a bit now, and he lets himself sag back into Zayn's – their – couch. Zayn is still looking at him, worried, but he smiles encouragingly. "That's great, Liam," he says. Liam feels his own face fall, and Zayn's goes a moment later. "Isn't it?" 

Liam nods, too enthusiastically and for too long. "It looks great," he says. "I'm sure it'll sell fast, and my parents – they need the money. You know."

"Yeah." Zayn nods along, and his hand finds Liam's shoulder again. "But Liam, you don't seem happy."

Liam looks at his hands. Just a few hours ago he was touching Harry's warm, real skin, and now – 

"I just," he says. "I got to like being there, I guess." 

Zayn nods, his eyes wide. He doesn't understand; he couldn't, because Liam hasn't told him anything. 

"Well," Zayn says, shifting to face his whole body toward Liam. "Tell me about it. What did you like about it?" 

Liam smiles again, miserable, and casts his eyes to the ceiling. "You'd never believe me," he says sadly. "You'd have me committed." And maybe that's the worst of it – no one will ever know what happened to him. No one will ever know about Harry, and about Louis and Niall, what Liam lived for those months in the house, what he has to live with now. 

Zayn looks taken aback. "Liam, I'm your best friend," he says. "You can tell me anything." 

And Liam looks at him. He looks at Zayn and tries to remember a time Zayn didn't believe him, or Zayn laughed at him instead of with him, and he can't. Liam pulls the blanket from around his shoulders and drapes it so it's covering both of their laps. It has the Batman logo on it; Zayn got it for him for his 21st birthday. 

"Okay," Liam says, and smoothes his hands over his lap. He reaches out for Zayn, closes his fingers around Zayn's wrist, over his pulse point, heartbeat faint but real under his skin. "Okay, I'll tell you," Liam says, and he begins to talk.

 

"Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?" Zayn's standing in his doorway, worrying his lip as Liam checks his pockets for the essentials. 

"I'm sure," Liam says. He is sure. Even though Zayn knows everything, even though he trusts Zayn, he needs to do this alone. 

The drive isn't long, only a few hours, and when Liam gets there he knows her instantly, sat outside even though it's still cold, only late January, bundled into a coat with a thick scarf around her neck. She's drinking something steaming hot and flipping through a book. She seems to know him right away too, standing when he approaches and extending a slim gloved hand. 

"Liam?" she asks, and he nods, taking her hand. He doesn't know why he's nervous but he is, and he smiles at her shakily. 

"Eleanor," he says, and sits across from her. "Thank you for coming. I hope it wasn't too creepy, contacting you out of nowhere." 

"No," she says, smiling slightly. "Did you want something to drink?" She gestures in to the cafe. "The tea is quite good." 

"No, I'm all right," Liam tells her. "Unless you need something else –“ 

She smiles again, comforting. "No, I'm just fine," she says. "Just - curious. You said you were a friend of Louis's, but I've never heard of you." 

Liam exhales, his breath ghosting white in front of his face. "No, you wouldn't have," he says slowly. He hopes he's doing the right thing, hopes he isn't going to hurt her. "I – my family used to own Whipstaff Manor." 

She's in the process of lifting her tea to her mouth when he speaks, but as soon as the words are out she goes frozen, arms still in the air. Liam can see her swallow, and after a long beat she sets the tea down untouched. 

"Well," she says. She looks shell-shocked, and Liam wants to comfort her somehow, but he wouldn't know where to start. "Well," she says again. "So that's how – you know Louis from –“ 

Liam nods. "Yes. I moved there a few months ago to clean it up to be sold." 

"Did you," she says, but it isn't really a question. Her face has gone completely blank, but Liam can feel her knee bouncing, under the table. Finally, she cracks a smile. "And I suppose he couldn't leave you alone." 

Liam can imagine them together. Eleanor with a steady hand on Louis's arm as he laughs, bounces around. They'd have been lovely. 

"He lasted almost a day before he started hiding my things," Liam tells her. She laughs a little, but her eyes are still blown wide with shock. "I think we got to be – friends, though." 

Eleanor picks her tea backs up, looks down into the mug like it will give her answers. "Did he tell you to find me?" she asks finally. 

Liam doesn't know what answer she wants to hear. "No," he says, because Louis didn't, technically. "He told me where I could find you, but it was for me, not him, I think." 

Eleanor just nods, not giving away any reaction to that. Then she shakes her head, raising her eyebrows curiously. "And why would you need to find me?" she asks. 

Liam looks at her, her rosy cheeks and pretty hair. He remembers that Harry said she'd looked terrible that last time she'd been to the mansion, but Liam can't picture it. "The potion," Liam says, his heart pounding in his ears. Eleanor's face draws closed immediately. "Louis gave Harry the potion. Because of me."

Eleanor stares at Liam for a long time, her eyes roving over his face but her expression unreadable. "Oh," she says finally, softly. Her hand closes over Liam's forearm, comforting. "Oh, Liam," she says. She looks at his face awhile longer like she's searching for answer, but in the end she only smiles gently. "Harry was always a charmer, wasn't he? But getting a human to fall for a spirit. That's impressive, even for him." 

Liam has to laugh, even though it hurts to do so. "It was the knock knock jokes," he mumbles, trying to not to sound as miserable as he feels. 

He ducks his face down. "Anyway, I think Louis thought – I think he thought we might understand each other." 

Eleanor rubs his arm a moment more and then lets go to wrap both hands around her tea, bringing it to her lips, the steam obscuring her face. "We might do," she says finally. 

"Are you upset?" Liam asks in a rush. "That we used your potion?" 

Eleanor's shaking her head before he even finishes the question. "No," she says definitively. "No, Louis was right about the potion. It would have been worse," she says, and then, glancing at Liam, "For us. It would have been worse for us." 

Liam swallows, accepting her answer. He looks at his fingers, still calloused and a little dirty from all the work he'd done on the house. "The potion," Liam starts again slowly. "Is there –“

"There's no more," she interrupts, but quietly, soothingly. "There isn't anything else you can do, Liam." 

He nods, because he'd been expecting that answer. Harry was right; if there was something else she would have found it. 

"So is there a trick?" Liam asks when the silence grows heavy. "Do you ever stop dreaming of him at night in that horrible empty house without you?"

Eleanor eyes him and then pushes her tea across the table towards him. The cup is going lukewarm but Liam wraps his ungloved hands around it anyway. "You do," she says finally. "You teach yourself to stop thinking of the bad things and remember the good. You do the best you can." She's nodding, and Liam wants to believe her. He wants to believe a lot of things. 

"Harry said –“ Liam starts, leaning back in his chair and looking down the street. "He said maybe they would leave. When the new owners moved in, maybe they would go somewhere else." He doesn't know if Eleanor wants to know; if it's better to know where Louis is or not. 

"Oh," she says breathily, inclining her head. "I do hope they do. I'm sure they could find so many adventures." 

Liam takes a deep breath then, and something about her words make him feel better almost instantly, like a rock being lifted from his chest; imagining Harry and Louis and Niall causing mischief around the world rather than holed up in that house. 

"Yeah," Liam says, and when he smiles it almost feels genuine. "God, yeah, they could."

The sun is dipping lower in the late winter sky, and a breeze picks up, ruffling through their hair, making them shiver. Eleanor, though, Eleanor smiles and tilts her head back like she savors it. Liam mirrors her, tipping his head back and letting the cold air skate across his neck, breathing it in deeply. Goosebumps prickle across his skin, wind in his ears, but Liam isn’t cold. 

He looks at Eleanor and he laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> *the line "i wish i could keep you" is adapted from the casper movie, and so is the term "fleshies," and so is the name whipstaff manor
> 
> *i want it to be known that i put in all the ghost jokes before it was #confirmed that [harry tells bad halloween jokes](http://24.media.tumblr.com/094356aa6160ab846692525697d95c0d/tumblr_muow5cXMiL1rox2lso1_400.jpg) (as if anyone is surprised). so i added the spooker market joke after that, all due credit to HS
> 
> *find me on [tumblr](http://broojan.tumblr.com), which i am totally going to start using regularly


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